


Reader's Special: 1st Edition One Shot Reward Story Collection

by Disasteriffic_Kaz



Series: The Reader's Special Marathon [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Caring, Case Fic, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Hurt Dean, Hurt Sam, Hurt/Comfort, Teenchesters, Torture, Weechesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-18
Updated: 2014-04-18
Packaged: 2018-01-19 20:32:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 41,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1482940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Disasteriffic_Kaz/pseuds/Disasteriffic_Kaz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of One Shot Reward Fics for Prompters of my Reader's Special: First Edition. Features many seasons and pre-series, hurt/limp/awesome/caring!Sam/Dean/John/Bobby/and more. See each chapter for specific info for each one shot reward fic. Each chapter is a Stand-alone story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. For leahelisabeth

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: The Reader's Special: First Edition was such brilliant fun thanks to all the wonderful people who prompted the story for each chapter that I offered each prompter a One Shot Reward fic of their choice. None of the chapters contained in this Fic are connected. Each one is a stand-alone one shot per the Prompters request. Thank you to all of you who prompted the Reader's Special! You were fantastic!
> 
> Chapter Info: For Leahelisabeth: Sam 2 and Dean 6 where Sam gets kidnapped from a motel room and John is completely at his wit's end and has to call in Bobby to help him find him. I also want Dean to have a hand in the rescue so we get some traumatized and hurt Sammy clinging to his big brother. Bobby snuggling the two of them on his lap in the back of the Impala while John rushes to the hospital after
> 
> Do please Review once you've read. :D Every comment and vote of support helps keep me writing. Not to mention if I've pooched anything, someone can always tell me. :P

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"Dean, dammit. Stop irritating your brother." John Winchester said in a long suffering voice as his two year old chased his six year old around the small motel room, crying and trying to recover the toy that had been stolen.

Dean smirked, holding the little Hot Wheels car above his head and finally lowered his hand so his baby brother could reach it. "Sorry, Sammy." Dean groaned and made a grab for the little brat when he stuck his tongue out at him.

"My Mustang." Sam told his big brother, sticking his bottom lip out defiantly and took the car back to his pile of little cars, plopping happily down beside them. To his father it looked like a mess of cars in haphazard piles on the floor but to Sam, he was doing his best to faithfully recreate their Uncle Bobby's yard. He nudged the milk carton that was standing in for the house into better position and hummed to himself.

"Dean." John waited for him and then tugged him up into his lap. "I have to go to work tonight."

"But…we going to Uncle Bobby's tomorrow?" Dean asked and John nodded, smiling.

"We are but I have to do this tonight, son." John sighed. "I need you to…"

"Take care o' Sammy." Dean nodded firmly and John smiled sadly.

"That's right, Dean." He ruffled his eldest's spiky hair affectionately. "It's only for a few hours, I promise. Stay in the room, don't open the door for anyone, don't answer the phone." He went over all the safety precautions, smiling proudly as Dean parroted them back at him perfectly. He wondered what Mary would think of their life now, if she'd hate him for what he was doing or if she would understand the responsibility he was heaping on their oldest son and why.

"We'll be ok, Dad." Dean smiled and slid off his father's lap. He snagged a comic book from his bag and sat on the couch above his little brother where he could watch him.

John sighed and stood. He took the straps of his duffel bag and went to the door, giving his boys a last look before he left and closed the door.

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John strode silently through the dark graveyard; the cool autumn breeze blew his leather jacket out around him as he shined his flashlight among the graves. A nasty ghost had taken exception to renovations at a nearby hotel and two people had been tossed down the elevator shaft. It hadn't taken him long to figure out it was an old manager of the Hotel from eighty years ago or where he was buried. He smiled when he found the headstone and set his duffel down, hefting his shovel.

"Ok, Mr. Greenway. Fun time's over." John dug the shovel into the hard packed earth with grim determination, keeping alert for any sign the grave's owner was paying attention.

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Dean peeked out the curtains of their motel room as the housekeeping cart squeaked past their window again. He hated that cart. The squeaky wheel made him nervous as did the creepy guy pushing it. He jumped and clenched the curtains together when the guy in his rumpled housekeeping uniform suddenly turned his head to meet Dean's eyes.

"Freak." Dean grumbled. He slid off the bed and checked the lock on the door, shrugging tension out of his small shoulders. "Never seen anyone spend so much time cleaning rooms." He muttered and went to stand over his little brother. Sam was lying on the floor in the middle of his Hot Wheels junkyard scooting a car that resembled their Dad's Impala in between the rows and making vroom-vroom noises that made him smile. "Hey, Sammy. You hungry yet?"

"Uh uh." Sam shook his head and shot a smile up at Dean. "Wanna play?"

Dean shook his head. "Not right now, midget." He went to the little fridge at the back of the room and pulled out the tv dinners their Dad had left there and opened one, popping it in the microwave. He knew his little brother and five minutes from now he'd change his mind and want food.

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John drove the blade of the shovel into the soft wood of the top of the coffin and took a moment to wipe the cold sweat from his brow. In spite of the cool weather, he'd worked up a hell of a sweat digging out the grave. The wind picked up, whipping over him as he cracked the coffin lid apart and bent to pull the long slats of wood out of the way. Beneath them were the yellowed bones of David Greenway.

He pulled himself up out of the grave after collecting all the bones, piling them together so he wouldn't miss any and went to his duffel for the salt. As John bent over a cold breath ghosted across his face and he reared back, narrowly avoiding his own shovel as it slammed down where his head had been.

"Son of a bitch!" John dove back to his duffel and pulled out the salt and an iron fireplace poker he'd brought just for this. He stood and turned to find Greenway's irate ghost standing behind him and brought the poker around in a wide sweep. As the iron passed through the apparition, Greenway gave a howl of anger and dissipated.

"Why is it never easy?" John panted and went to the side of the grave, hastily pouring salt down on the piled bones. He dug a bottle of lighter fluid out of his jacket pocket and squirted that down into the grave, saturating the bones. He grunted in surprise as he was struck high across the back and shoved into the grave. He fell with a short cry and groaned, rolling himself off the bones. He carefully wiped spattered lighter fluid off his face and saw his own shovel lying across him. "Oh you bastard." John growled. He jumped to his feet and scrambled out of the grave again. He threw the iron poker into the ghost waiting for him at the top as he rolled out onto the grass and pulled a zippo from his pocket. It took him three tries to get it lit in the strong wind but finally the flame caught as the ghost reappeared and John tossed it down into the grave with a satisfied grin. Flames burst up from the darkened hole into the night and David Greenway screamed as he was engulfed and vanished in a burst of light. "Rest in peace you asshole." John gasped and flopped onto his back for a moment, giving in to the exhaustion and the pain burning across his shoulder blades from the shovel hit.

"Get up Winchester." John told himself and rolled to his knees. He looked around and then threw his arms up in frustration. "Dammit!" The shovel was down in the grave with the now cheerfully burning flames. "Great." He looked around and sighed in relief, spotting a caretaker's shack back in the trees. John stood, trying to roll the ache out of his shoulders and set off at a jog for the shack. He wanted to get the grave filled in and get back to his boys.

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Dean lay stretched out on the far bed with Sam in his lap, using his chest as a headboard. His little brother was sound asleep with his head rolled under Dean's chin, little Mustang car clutched in his hand. Dean sighed and let his head drop back to the wall, too sleepy to shift Sam and get more comfortable. He looked over at the clock and frowned. Dad had been gone for four hours and he wanted him to come home before he fell asleep. Dean's body had other ideas and his eyes began to droop, taking longer and longer to open. He tried to fight sleep but Sam's warm body pressed against him and the hum of the heater under the window worked against him and Dean lost the fight, rolling his cheek into his baby brother's shaggy hair as a soft squeak sounded outside their room.

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John pulled up in front of their motel, shutting off the Impala's engine and sighed. He was more than ready to fall into bed. He'd meant to be home an hour ago but filling in a grave with bruises across his shoulders had proven slower going than he wanted. He climbed out stiffly and pulled his duffel with him, shut the door and then stopped, staring as a cold sensation crawled up his spine and into the pit of his stomach. The motel room door was cracked open. John let his duffel fall with a thump and drew the gun from the small of his back. He knew there was no way Dean would ever leave the door open like that. He was as protective of Sam as John was.

John eased around the car to the side of the door. He nudged it further open with his toe seeing light filter out. The lights were still on in the room. He swung into the room in one fluid movement, gun ready and gasped as the bottom fell out of his world. Sam was nowhere to be seen but Dean lay sprawled on his stomach in the middle of the room, blood seeping from a wound on the back of his head. Every instinct made him want to run to his son but he swallowed the panic and cleared the room first. He found nothing, no sign of Sam or whatever had attacked them.

"Dean." John put his gun up and dropped beside his boy, rolling Dean's limp form carefully into his arms and cradled his face. "Dean? Son, wake up." He sniffed, smelling something out of place and looked down to see a white cloth on the floor beside them. He picked it up and sniffed it, quickly moving it away from his face as the smell of Chloroform burned his nose. He dropped the cloth and bent over Dean. He wrinkled his nose, detecting traces of the chemical on Dean's face. "Oh god." John cradled Dean against his chest and stared around the room, momentarily frozen with indecision and fear. He dropped his head into Dean's hair and forced his breathing to calm from the frantic breaths; using the strong sure heartbeat he could feel beneath his hand from his son to settle him further. "Ok. Ok."

He stood and carried Dean to the nearest bed, laying him down gently and then dragged the phone over from the bedside stand. He quickly dialed Bobby Singer's number and prayed the man wouldn't sleep through the call. "Please pick up." John said softly as it rang in his hear. "Pick up, Bobby."

"What?" Bobby Singer's gruff voice, heavy with sleep greeted him and John closed his eyes for a moment.

"Bobby, its John Winchester." John took a deep breath, feeling panic claw at him. "Someone broke into our motel room. Bobby, Dean's hurt and Sam…god, Bobby Sammy's gone. He's gone."

"What!" Bobby shouted and John could hear him moving, his breathing heavy but the voice that came back to him was calm. "Keep it together, Winchester. Where are you?" John told him and heard Bobby opening and closing doors in a hurry. "Stay put. I'm coming to you. Be there in…two hours. Less." John nodded as the line went dead and hung up the phone. He pulled Dean back into his arms, too unsteady to not have his son where he could hold him.

"Dean?" John used a corner of the bedspread to wipe blood from the side of his son's face and tilted the small head so he could see where it was coming from. The cut was small, much to his relief and the blood already clotting. "Dean, I need you to wake up." John tapped lightly at Dean's cheeks. "Come on buddy. Time to come back." He was doing his best to speak calmly and surely but couldn't quite hide the waver in his voice. He kept looking around the small room as if expecting Sam to crawl out from behind the little couch or stumble out of the bathroom. His eyes latched on to the carefully arranged cars in front of the television as tears stung his eyes. "Hang on, Sammy. I'm gonna find you."

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Bobby whipped his truck into a spot beside the Winchester's distinctive muscle car and slammed out, all but running to the motel room door and pounded on it. "John!" He hadn't known the little family long but it hadn't taken him more than five minutes to become besotted with the two boys. Dean with his quick wit and snarky tongue; little Sammy who could look up at Bobby with those big liquid eyes and turn the cranky Hunter into a pussycat. The two hour drive had taken him only an hour and a half. He took a deep breath as the motel room door swung open to reveal a haggard John Winchester.

"Bobby." John's voice was thin with strain and he quickly waved the older man in, shutting the door behind him.

Bobby took the room in quickly, eyes settling on Dean where he was propped up in one of the beds with a bandage around his head and a miserable look on his face. "Hey, Dean." Bobby smiled for the boy and got a weak smile in return. He walked further in and stopped, looking down at the collection of cars in front of the television. Bobby stared for a moment, something familiar about them before shaking his head and turning back to the distraught family. "Ok. What do we know?"

"Dean woke up a little while ago." John started and went to sit by his son. "Dean, tell Bobby what you told me."

Dean nodded and looked up at his Uncle. "It was that creepy housekeeper guy with the squeaky cart." Dean trembled lightly and John wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "I…" He glanced up at his Dad nervously. "I was asleep. I fell asleep." He said it with such misery Bobby's heart broke a little for the kid. He went and sat on the other side of the bed, resting a big hand on the back of the boys head.

"It's ok, Dean." Bobby soothed. "Just relax."

Dean nodded again. "I woke up when…when he grabbed Sam. He was sleepin' on me and I woke up when he moved him." Dean's voice was rising with agitation. "I tried to stop him Dad I swear I did. I kicked him and…and I tried to get to the gun but…"

"Shh, boy. Calm down." Bobby pulled Dean into his arms when John stood and started pacing the room. "This isn't your fault."

"I found the damn cart." John said suddenly, kicking the dresser to relieve some of his tension. "It's around the back of the motel." He reached into his pocket and pulled out something Bobby couldn't see, looking at it as though it were the most important thing in the world. "He dumped my baby in the damn cart like dirty laundry." John said voice dangerously low and turned his hand so Bobby could see he held a little black Mustang. "We gotta find him, Bobby."

"We will. I made a few calls on my way here." Bobby squeezed Dean's shoulders a little tighter when the boy turned into him. "This motel's got a history of kids goin' missing." Bobby scowled; his face darkening as he remembered the disregard with which the cop he'd spoken too had treated the disappearances, as though people passing through didn't matter as much to him. He set Dean back against the headboard with a little smile, patting his shoulder. "I'm gonna go wake up the manager, see what I can find out about our creepy housekeeper. You did good, Dean." He said before he stood. "Stay here." Bobby told John, absolving him of feeling as though he should come. He left the room as John ran both hands through his hair, tugging it into spikes and shook his head.

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Bobby let himself back in the Winchester's room with a quick knock. John turned from where he'd been packing weapons into a bag and gave him an almost pleading look. "Ok, manager wasn't too happy about being woken up but we had a little chat." Bobby rubbed his knuckles. He'd had to…impress upon the sleazeball how important it was that he talk. "The housekeeper's name is Gary Steves. Worked here for about twenty years." Bobby went over to the little couch where Dean was now sitting and dropped a hand on the narrow shoulder before looking back to John. "I've got his address. It's not far."

"You sure he's our guy?" John asked. "I can't afford to go haring off after the wrong person."

"It's him, Dad." Dean said suddenly and stood. He squared his shoulders, standing taller than his six years. "I'm going. You're not leavin' me here." Dean crossed his arms over his chest and glared at his father because he knew his Dad was going to find some way to leave him out of it but there was no way he wasn't going to be there for his little brother. "I gotta be there, Dad. I gotta."

Bobby opened his mouth but John waved a hand. "Ok, son." John ignored the instant glare from Bobby and went to Dean, kneeling in front of him. "You do what we say, whatever we say." Dean nodded but John continued. "If we tell you to stay back and wait you don't argue. Understood?"

Dean considered for a moment and then nodded, silently promising to do whatever it took to save Sammy no matter what his Dad said. "Yes, Sir." Dean said.

"Ok, let's go get your brother." John stood and grabbed his duffel. "I'm driving. Bobby?"

"Yeah I'll ride with ya." Bobby watched Dean dart over to his bed and pull a small pistol from under the pillow before following his father out the door. Bobby looked back down at the little cars at his feet and his eyes widened in sudden recognition. He was looking at a scale model of his junkyard in matchbox cars. He knelt to pick up the little milkbox that had to be his house and felt tears sting his eyes. Sam had drawn a porch on the front and scratched in four stick figures; his family. Bobby looked at the little ballcap on the stick figure representing him and wiped his eyes after setting it carefully back in its proper place. "We're comin' kid."

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John drove like a man possessed, screaming down the dark back road, eyes set firmly ahead until Bobby pointed to a tree-lined gravel drive. He turned onto it with a quick glance at the pale, scared face of his oldest son in the backseat. It had been hours; hours that his son had been in the hands of some sicko and the knowledge of what he might find when they found him was tying his stomach in knots and making his skin crawl. He worked so hard to protect his boys from the supernatural monsters he'd somehow screwed up protecting them from the human monsters.

"There's the house." Bobby told him and John turned off the headlights, easing behind a stand of trees to park. Both men and Dean climbed quickly out of the car. They checked their weapons, Bobby giving a sidelong look at John. He had a feeling he was going to have to stop him short of committing murder and wasn't sure he'd want too if anything had happened to Sam. John dropped a hand onto Dean's shoulder and then gave a quick look to Bobby before moving toward the house.

It was old; the white paint had long ago weathered to cracked and flaking grey. Most of the windows on both floors were shuttered; some of them hanging at odd angles and the front porch was overgrown with ivy. John pointed to his chest and the front of the house and Bobby nodded, breaking away at a jog heading for the back. He couldn't see anything in the windows as he passed them, moving quietly toward the rear of the house. Bobby ducked under them anyway, just in case someone was looking. He reached the rear of the house and looked out into the tree lined backyard as he eased along the wall. His jaw dropped as he processed what he was seeing. The backyard was covered with small, rectangular flower beds. He quickly counted, finding thirteen and he decided maybe he wouldn't try too hard to stop John from killing the bastard. Standing in the center of each plot of flowers was a ghost. Thirteen ghosts, all small boys; each one staring fearfully at the house from their graves as if afraid to move.

"Son of a bitch." Bobby breathed and promised to make sure every one of those poor kids would be laid to rest properly.

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Dean followed closely at his father's back. He had his gun out, held along his leg and pressed into his thigh to stop his hand shaking. He wanted to hurry, move faster. He wanted to be inside and find his little brother but he swallowed it all back and took a deep breath, letting it out slow like his Dad taught him and waited.

John bent to the lock on the front door, giving the knob a turn and smiled dangerously when it opened, unlocked. Obviously, Gary wasn't worried about anyone stumbling in on him. He pushed the door open and turned to signal Dean to wait. His son gave him a slightly mutinous look but stayed back. John eased inside and moved quickly through the room. He listened intently and heard the sound of music playing softly from upstairs. His gun jerked up at movement in the kitchen but lowered it again when he saw Bobby. The older Hunter had an odd look on his face and John raised a brow, questioning but Bobby just shook his head and raised his chin to the stairs.

John nodded and stepped up, startling when he suddenly felt Dean at his back again. He looked down, ready to order him back outside when he saw the fierce look on the six year old face below the bandage and sighed. He turned back to the stairs, careful to place his feet near the wall to avoid making noise as he went swiftly up to the second floor. The hall branched to either side. Bobby turned left while John took the right, heading toward the music he could still hear.

Dean was torn between which man to follow when he heard a faint sound that could only be his brother. Dean turned to the left and sprinted past Bobby, heedless of the quiet plea for him to come back. Dean slid to a stop at the end of the hall and threw open the door there. Inside, the creepy housekeeper was bent over a small bed with his brother upon it and a needle in his hand. Dean didn't think; didn't even raise his gun as the man slid the needle into his brothers' arm. Dean rushed the much larger man and bowled headlong into him as he turned in surprise.

"GET OFF HIM!" Dean screamed and threw a punch with the gun in his hand into the man's groin, crumpling him with a short cry. A moment later his father and Bobby burst into the door and Dean climbed up onto the bed with his brother while they wrestled Gary into submission.

"Sammy." Dean was crying, tears dripping off his nose and he didn't care. He crawled up beside Sam and pulled his little brother into his arms. He was so pale and cold and had been stripped to only his underwear. "Sammy?" He cried harder when Sam weakly turned his head toward Dean's voice, eyes open only slits to see him.

"D…Dean?" Sam sobbed and tried to put his arms up but they felt so heavy and something was hurting his arm.

John turned from Gary Steves with difficulty. Seeing his son on the bed, drugged and near naked…it was almost more willpower than he had not killing the man on the spot. He sat on the side of the bed and took Sam's thin arm in his own, carefully removing the needle and syringe still stuck there. He threw them to the floor and gathered both his sons into his arms.

"John. John is he ok?" Bobby asked hoarsely from where he knelt with a knee in the back of the bastard who'd taken Sam.

"I dunno." John sniffed back tears that had already wet his face and loosened his grip on the boys enough to see Sam's face. "Sammy?" There were bruises on his arms and legs as though he'd been tied up and John looked to see four sets of handcuffs at the corners of the bed. Rage blew through him and he looked over at Gary's white face, watching as the man squealed in sudden fear, dropping his head to the floor and begged them not to kill him.

"Dad." Sam's voice was soft, thin and weak and his eyes fluttered as John watched, falling closed.

"Baby, open your eyes." John begged and gave him a gentle shake. "Sammy?" There was no response and Sam went limp in his and Dean's arms.

"Dad?" Dean looked up at him. "He's gonna be ok, right?" John nodded and pulled them in close again.

Bobby, pushed beyond his breaking point at the state Sam was in grabbed a handful of Gary's greasy hair, raised his head and slammed his face viciously into the floor, knocking him unconscious. He stood; wiping his hands as if trying to wipe something vile off them and went to the window to look out in the backyard.

All thirteen ghosts were still there, still standing on their flowery graves but now they all looked up to the window Bobby stood at. He watched as one by one they winked out with a little nod and he felt tears leak down his face. The monster had been stopped and they were free. He looked over to watch as John shrugged out of his leather jacket and Dean helped him wrap it around Sam. Bobby went to a nightstand by the door and the phone sitting there. He called the police and was happy when he got the idiot he'd spoken to earlier in the night, telling him if he wanted to nail a child murderer and find thirteen victims that he should get over there and gave the address. He hung up and went to the bed.

"We need to get him to a hospital." Bobby told John and brushed a hand through the damp hair on Sam's head. John nodded and let Bobby pull his son from his arms.

"I'll drive." He stood and looked down at Gary Steves, hand on his gun and fought the urge to put two in him where he lay, defenseless.

"John!" Bobby yelled, snapping him out of it and John tucked the weapon away, grabbing Dean up in his arms and followed Bobby.

"Dean, thought I told you to wait for us." John said softly to his eldest as they went down the stairs. Seeing Dean take off and run and vanish into that room had about stopped John's heart where he stood. His only thought was that he wouldn't survive losing both his sons. He squeezed him tightly now, letting his cheek rest in Dean's hair for a second.

"Sorry, Sir." Dean said but he didn't mean it.

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John drove at breakneck speed down the highway again. He smiled grimly when a line of police cruisers passed them going the other way and silently cursed them for letting Gary Steves hurt so many children. Bobby had quietly told him what he'd found in the backyard and John had nearly gone back upstairs to kill him. He glanced in the rearview and let the image of his boys, both his boys, calm the hate inside him.

Bobby cradled Sam in one arm, the dark head tucked under his chin and still not quite conscious. He was shivering beneath his father's coat. He held Dean in his other arm when the older boy wouldn't allow himself to be separated from his brother and wiggled his way onto Bobby's lap, gathering Sam against his chest. He held both of Sam's hands in his own, rubbing them and talking softly about nothing, watching Sam's face for any sign he was listening. Bobby hugged them both closer and felt his world settle back into focus. He met John's eyes in the mirror and saw the same feeling there.

Sam knew he was safe again because he could smell leather and gun oil; his father and feel hands rubbing hard at his; Dean and feel the stubbly scratch of a beard in his hair; Uncle Bobby. He couldn't make his eyes open all the way or break out of the feeling that he was floating but he knew he was safe from the scary man and he sighed and let himself fall into sleep.

John screeched into the Hospital parking lot and parked in front of the Emergency Doors, not caring if someone wanted his car there or not. He slammed out of the driver's seat, opened the back door and pulled Sam out as Bobby handed him over. Dean moaned a protest at being separated but Bobby just picked him up and made sure to stay beside John as they strode into the ER and John started shouting for a Doctor.

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Hours later, John sat on the side of his son's hospital bed. Sam had been drugged and dehydrated. IV's ran from his little arm stretched out on the ridiculous teddy bear sheets of the pediatric ward. Dean was in the bed as well, having bulled his way there as soon as the Nurses had backed off. He lay with Sam wrapped in his arms, sound asleep but Dean was awake and peered anxiously at every new face that walked in the door, watching through narrowed eyes and not relaxing until they had left again. Bobby had yet to leave and was snoring in a chair on the other side of the bed, his head resting on the safety bar. John just watched his sons, loathe to leave them even for a second despite how much he wanted a cup of coffee. He'd had to answer questions from the police since it was obvious his youngest had been restrained. Bobby had advised him to just tell the truth this time and he had. They'd made noise about coming back in a day or so for a statement from Sam and John was determined as soon as he was stable, they were leaving. Sam didn't need strangers making him relive what had happened to him. John knew some of it from mutterings while Sam was sleeping fitfully and he said a silent apology to Mary for failing to protect their baby.

"Go to sleep Dean." John said softly. "I'm right here."

Dean only shook his head slightly, tightening his grip around Sam as he snuggled harder into his big brother's chest. John sighed, wondering if Dean was going to let his brother out of his sight ever again. He sat forward and rested a hand on Sam's leg under the blanket, his other hand in Dean's hair and closed his eyes, finally letting relief flow through him now that his boys were safe again and thought that tomorrow he would start training Dean in unarmed combat. Dean would like that, he thought as he looked at the boy holding his baby brother so protectively and smiled. Bobby would give him hell, he was sure and he smiled at that too.

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_The End._


	2. For Hinfallend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For Hinfallend: I would love to read about Sam going into a hunters bar after Dean goes to hell and getting into a fight. Before Ruby because I don't like it when Sam is high off of demon blood. It would work best from one of the other hunter's point of view because I want it to be describing Sam. I also want it mentioned about how strange it is to see Sam without Dean if you decide that the hunter community doesn't know that Dean is in hell.

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"Jerry, you got the worst damn poker face this side of the Mississippi." Frank slapped a twenty in the center of the table with a grin. "Call."

"Ah dammit, Frank." Jerry looked down at his useless cards and tossed them away with a groan.

"Why you always wanna play poker when you know you suck?" Frank laughed and swept the cowboy hat off his head, pulling the money into it and slapping it back on his head.

Jerry waved to the bartender for another pitcher of beer. The Whistle Stop was a dive bar outside St. Lawrence on a backwater road with a railroad that ran behind it and most people, normal people, would walk in, take one look around and leave if they had any smarts. This particular bar was frequented by Hunters. He glanced at the bar full of scarred and fierce faces, mostly men but there were a few women too. Jerry always kept his distance from them; they could be surlier than the men on a good day. If Hunting the supernatural hardened a man, it turned a woman into something he didn't want to get caught in a dark alley with.

"Dude, is that…?" Frank nodded toward the door where a tall, gargantuan of a man had just stepped in.

"Holy crap, it's Sam Winchester." Jerry nodded and watched as the tall, dark haired man went straight to the bar and sat down. He'd bumped into him a few times at the old Road House, before Demons had burnt it down and he'd always seemed like a nice kid. Now though, Jerry frowned as he studied him. There was something different. There was a look of abject loss on the kids' face that made Jerry squirm and he wondered what had happened.

"Where's his brother?" Frank kept watching the door. "Those two never go anywhere without the other. I'm gonna go buy him a drink." Frank started to stand and Jerry tugged his arm until he sat back down.

"No,man. Leave him be."

"What? Why?" Frank stared at him, confused.

"Something's not right with the kid, man." Jerry shook his head. In their line of work you could smell loss on someone and more, you knew when someone was wound too tight. "Look at 'im."

Another Hunter at the bar and two of his buddies, obviously too far gone already to read the signs had the same idea as Frank. Jerry watched them saunter over to Sam, slap him on the back and saw the dark look Sam aimed at them before turning away in dismissal. They didn't take the hint. He heard, over the hubbub of the bar the taller man ask Sam where his keeper was and Jerry cringed as Sam's shoulders tightened with the insult but still he said nothing and didn't turn around, just signaled the waitress for another shot of whatever he was drinking.

"Why do I get the feeling shit's about to go wrong here?" Frank asked suddenly and Jerry smirked.

"Cause you aint stupid drunk like those idiots." Jerry sat back and smiled as a waitress brought over another pitcher. "What's goin' on over there?" He asked her, nodding toward the bar.

She scowled. "Those boys don't know enough to leave Sam Winchester be." She set the pitcher down and leaned over. "Look, I probably shouldn't even say but Ellen Harvelle was through here yesterday." She glanced back at Sam, sorrow on her face. "Dean Winchester's dead."

"What?" Jerry lurched forward in shock, Frank with him. "What the hell happened?"

The waitress shrugged. "I don't know but he's gone, not a week in the ground yet and if those boys don't leave his brother…" She didn't get to finish as shouts erupted from the bar. Jerry leaned around the waitress to see Sam Winchester on his feet, face furious and two men on the floor. The third aimed a punch at Sam's face that connected and whipped his head to the side. Sam just turned back to look at him and shot a leg out, taking the man in the stomach and sent him to the floor in a gasping heap.

"Whatever they said they sure pissed him off." Frank said, awed. Jerry nodded and watched. The other two men were back on their feet and advanced on Sam, backing him into the bar. Sam showed no interest in defusing the situation. Instead, there was a look of almost pleasure on his face as they tackled him. He seemed to want the fight and took the elbow to his gut with a grunt before driving his fist into the guy's chin and sending him reeling backwards. The Hunter who'd started the whole thing picked up a stool and cracked Sam over the back with it, sending the young man to his knees in a daze.

Jerry stood with a quick look at Frank who nodded; they weren't going to watch the kid get beaten. Other men were drifting toward the fight as Hunters rarely turned down an opportunity for drunken mayhem and the fight quickly spread into a brawl with the younger Winchester taking the brunt of the hits. He was being held by two men, one on each arm but that didn't stop Sam from delivering a crippling kick to the knees of the man punching him. He went to his knees again as one of the men holding him cracked him over the back of the head and this time he was slow in getting up.

Jerry and Frank waded into the fight, pushing men out of the way and Jerry cheerfully punched out one of the jackasses who'd started harassing the kid in the first place. They reached Sam, each one grabbing an arm and pulled him to his feet when Sam started struggling.

"Knock it off, Winchester." Jerry yelled in his ear. "We're trying to get you out of here in one piece."

"Lemme 'lone." Sam growled at them and shook off their hands. "Don' need help." Frank waved a hand in front of his face.

"Crap, Jer, he's already pickled." Frank shook his head, feeling for the guy.

Sam straightened his shoulders and turned back to the fight. Jerry shrugged. "You'll thank me later." He said to Sam's back. He grabbed the kids' shoulder and spun him around and then planted a solid fist on his jaw. Sam's eyes rolled back in his head and he went down, caught between Frank and Jerry on his way to the floor. "Let's get him clear of this mess." Frank nodded and they dragged the senseless man out of the bar while the fight raged on behind them, no longer needing Sam Winchester to carry on.

They got outside and then stood there, Sam sagging between them and took in a few lungfuls of cold air. "Well now what do we do with him?" Frank asked.

Jerry spotted an Impala a few spots away and nodded. "That's Dean's…well I guess it's his now." He looked down at the shaggy head and sighed. "Come on, help me get him in. There's that motel up the road. We'll get him a room and he can sober up there. You can pay for it with all that cash you won off me."

Frank snorted and helped carry Sam down the row of cars. "What do you suppose happened to his brother?"

Jerry shrugged. "Hold him up?" Frank took the considerable weight, grunting with the effort while Jerry searched Sam's pockets and finally came up with the keys. He opened the passenger door and helped Frank pour the kid in, belting him into the seat and closed the door.

"Think we should call someone?" Frank asked as Jerry walked around to the driver's side.

"Who?" Jerry opened the door and got behind the wheel. "Kid didn't have any family left but his brother."

"I guess." Frank shut the door for his buddy and went to get their truck. He waited for the Impala to rumble out of the lot ahead of him and followed the few miles down the road.

Jerry couldn't shake the feeling that he didn't belong in this car behind the wheel. He was enjoying the throaty growl of the engine but he wanted to be out of it as fast as possible. Hunters always burned their dead so he knew Dean's ghost wasn't haunting the car or anything but for a moment it sure felt like something was watching and unimpressed with him. He watched Frank shoot ahead of him on the dark road in their truck and waved, figuring he was going to get the room before they got there. He was right. He pulled into the parking lot of the Freestar Motel and Frank was waving at him from the far end of the building. Jerry pulled in and parked, gratefully turning off the engine and got out, rounding the car.

"Got the door open. Let's get the behemoth inside." Frank helped Jerry pull Sam out of the car, still senseless. "Geez, Jer, how hard' you hit him?"

Jerry chuckled. "Kid's drunk man. Didn't have to hit him that hard." They heaved and grunted, stumbling into the room and finally deposited their burden on the bed by the door.

"I paid him up for a day." Frank wiped sweat off his brow and looked around the dingy, brown room. "Figure if he wakes up and wants to stay longer, he can."

"Mmmf." Sam groaned and rolled on the bed to his stomach, burying his face in one of the pillows. "Dean." He mumbled and Jerry sighed, heart breaking for the kid. He went to the other bed and tugged the blanket off the top then gave it a snap and spread it over Sam.

"Get his shoes off." Jerry said, wrestling Sam's jacket off him.

"Dude." Frank argued but he did bend over and tug off Sam's shoes. "You goin' soft on me?"

Jerry resettled the blanket and looked down at the shaggy hair, all he could see of Sam's head at the moment. "I had a little brother." Jerry said softly. "Died when we were kids."

Frank hissed in a breath and his shoulders slumped. "Damn, Jer. I didn't know."

Jerry shrugged. "Nothin' to tell. Just…" He shrugged again. "Just figure if it were me, I'd want someone to watch out for him, you know?"

Frank nodded. "Yeah. Ok. Look." He rolled his eyes, amused at himself. "Gotta be salt in his car. We should pour the lines for the kid before we go, huh?"

Jerry gave him a grateful smile and nodded. "Good idea."

They dug a salt canister out of the Impala's trunk and Jerry pulled out what he figured was Sam's duffel and took that inside too. They poured salt at the door and the window and flipped off the lights, leaving Sam Winchester facedown under his pillow, snoring the sleep of the blissfully drunk as they shut the door and stood outside.

"So, what do you wanna do now?" Frank asked and looked over to see a smile spread on Jerry's face.

"Go back to the Whistle Stop." Jerry rubbed his hands together and headed for the truck, sliding in the passenger side as Frank got behind the wheel and chuckled.

"You planning on dishing out a little ass kicking for the kid's big brother?" Frank laughed as Jerry nodded. "You are an old softie."

"Gonna be a couple heads in that bar who'll argue with ya come morning." Jerry said and cracked his knuckles as they pulled out leaving the Impala and her broken owner behind.

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_The End._


	3. For Little White Comet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For Little White Comet: Right for a One-Shot I guess I would like: Sam Kidnapped by Monster of the Day, Dean tries to save him but get captures too, Sam ends up saving them both but gets badly injured and finally Dean makes everything better by being an awesome big Brother! Set in early season 1. Sammy and his fringe makes me squeal ^_^

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"Dude, next time you say 'hey I found us a job in North Carolina in July' I'm smacking you." Dean mopped more sweat off his brow as he hiked beside his brother, Sam who rolled his eyes and laughed.

"Well next time I'll text the freaky homicidal albino creature and ask it to wait until autumn to start killing people." Sam smirked and wiped sweat out of his own eyes, shoving sweat damp hair off his forehead that fell right back and blew a breath out in frustration.

Dean snickered. "You lemme cut that mop off you'll be cooler."

Sam slapped a hand up to his head and narrowed his eyes. "You come near me with scissors and bar maids all over the country will be in mourning." He gave a pointed look to his brother's crotch with raised brows and made him laugh.

"They don't make scissors that big." Dean deadpanned and Sam groaned, disgusted. A sudden crashing sound somewhere near by stopped both men in their tracks. "Cowboy up, Sammy."

"It's Sam." Sam whispered and raised his rifle to his shoulder, peering between the trees as Dean did.

"So, what's this thing look like again?" Dean stepped ahead of Sam toward where the commotion had come from.

"According to the witnesses? A giant, albino Porcupine." Sam smirked at the look on Dean's face.

"If this turns out to be two college kids in a costume, you're never picking the job again." Dean groaned but didn't let down his guard. "You hear that?" A steady dripping sound carried through the air ahead of them. He looked back to see Sam's nod and started forward slowly, alert, watching his feet to avoid crunching through the underbrush and giving away their presence. He put his left hand up and waved two fingers to his left. Sam immediately peeled off to flank whatever was in front of them, moving silently away. Dean eased through the trees, blinking as a shaft of sunlight broke through the canopy and hit his eyes. He ducked under a low hanging branch and let the muzzle lower slightly in surprise.

"Sammy?" Dean said and his brother appeared on the other side of the small clearing from a screening of trees.

"What the hell?" Sam asked and looked up at the unfortunate twelve point buck hanging in the tree between them. Its throat had been opened with three long vicious tears, the blood dripping to the ground below in a puddle. Along its side was a row of long quills more than a foot in length.

"Are those?" Dean nodded at the corpse and Sam nodded.

"Porcupine quills." Sam moved closer and reached a long arm up, prying one of the quills free and looked closely at the business end. "Huh. Well, good news, I don't see any venom or anything on the end."

"Oh goodie." Dean rolled his eyes. "So we'll get perforated but not poisoned. That's comforting." He turned back to the forest, raising his rifle again. His instincts were telling him they weren't alone. "Sam…" He whirled back as a crashing came again behind him. Dean turned in time to see an albino Porcupine the size of a friggin Volkswagen come barreling out of the trees straight at Sam. His brother raised his gun but not in time. Dean let off a shot, hitting the creature in the shoulder but barely slowing it as it plowed into Sam and careened off into the trees again.

"SAM!" Dean shouted and sprinted after it. It had knocked Sam down and scooped him up in its jaws in one fluid move as it ran past. Dean spared a glance for the blood splattered on the ground where Sam had been standing, his jaw clenching and ran; following the sounds. The creature made no effort to be silent this time and Dean had an easy time following it and the path it left through the trees. Finally, the noise stopped and so did Dean. "Sam?" He called and was rewarded with a moan nearby. He broke into a run again and skidded to a stop beside his brother. Sam lay on his stomach, curled around himself and moaned. "Sammy?" Dean started to bend to check on him and never saw the creature drop from above, swiping a massive paw out and knocking him into oblivion.

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"Guh." Dean groaned and tried to roll to his side, irritated when he couldn't. He could feel something wet and sticky on the side of his head. He reached a hand up, pried his eyes open and saw it was blood. "Oh, right." He slurred, remembering vaguely what had happened. "Sammy?" Dean raised his aching head and realized why it felt like all his blood was in his head; he was hanging upside down. "Crap." Below him, Sam lay sprawled. They were in some sort of warren thrown together from branches, sticks, leaves and he tried real hard not to think about what the gummy stuff holding it together and him to the roof might be. "Sam!" He said louder, seeing no sign of the agro porcupine.

Sam shifted and opened his eyes and frowned in confusion. "Dean?" He couldn't figure out why his big brother was above him.

"Get me the hell out of this." Dean growled, trying uselessly to free his feet. "You ok?"

Sam sat up carefully; holding a hand to his blood stained side and nodded. He could feel teeth marks in his stomach and up his back. He remembered being clamped between vice like jaws and then dropped. "Yeah…yeah I'm ok. Hang on."

Dean watched him struggle to his feet and sway a second before looking up again. "Dude, you look like a piñata." Sam said and smirked as Dean growled at him.

"I'm gonna take a stick to you when I get down from here." Dean warned but only made Sam laugh and then gasp, clutching his side. "Hey, you sure you're ok?"

Sam nodded and gave him a quick smile. "Yeah, it's not deep." He went to the wall and looked up, deciding it really wasn't that far. "I'm coming up." Sam reached up and gave the branches an experimental tug. They seemed sturdy enough. He started up the wall and swallowed the moan of pain as the wounds in his stomach and back pulled. He reached Dean's feet easily and drew the knife out from his belt, reaching over. "Dude, you're gonna drop like a stone."

"I'm good. Just get me loose." Dean told him, starting to get a pounding, dizzying headache from being upside down. He felt Sam sawing at the gunk that held his feet in place and couldn't help a snort of laughter. "Where's a lightsaber when you need one?"

Sam chuckled and moved his hand as Dean's left foot swung free. "Almost done." He sawed quickly at the sticky substance on his right foot and a moment later, Dean's weight pulled him free and he dropped. "Dean? You ok?"

Dean loosened his muscles as he fell and did his best to roll; still the back of his shoulders took the brunt of the impact. He groaned and gave Sam a thumbs up. "Ow." He crawled to his knees as Sam climbed down, dropping beside him with a moan.

"Yeah, ow." Sam hunched and Dean tugged his shirt aside. "Knock it off."

"Lemme have a look." Dean batted his hand away and yanked his t-shirt up. "Damn."

"It's ok." Sam tugged his shirt back down with a grimace. "We need to find the guns and get the hell out of here." He stood beside Dean, turned around and then gasped. "Get down!"

Dean fell backwards as Sam tackled him, throwing himself on top of him and heard his brother cry out as his weight settled onto him. "Sam?" He reached his arm around to move him off and his hand brushed against a row of long quills. "Son of a bitch!" Dean moved Sam to the side, careful not to roll him and saw the Porcupine in the entrance to the warren, resettling its quills along its back as it turned to look at them. Dean pushed to his feet and grabbed the knife Sam still held in his hand and charged the thing. The porcupine reared up in surprise showing its white, almost pink underbelly. Dean ducked beneath its paws and angled the knife up below its jaw. He used his considerable upper body strength to force the blade up and into the creature's brain from below. Dean held on while the Porcupine thrashed suddenly, one paw dragging across his hip, leaving a trail of pain behind and then it collapsed and he was forced to dance out from under its body to avoid being crushed.

"Holy crap." Dean panted as he watched the behemoth settle to the ground, dead. He gave its shoulder a parting kick to be sure and dashed back to Sam who was slowly pulling himself up to his knees. "Hey, tiger. How you doin'?"

Sam nodded tensely, trying not to move too much. "Hurts."

"No kidding." Dean scowled at the row of quills down his back and knelt in front of him. "Gotta get these out before I can get you out of here." Sam nodded again and slowly let himself fall forward until he was leaning against Dean's chest, head in the crook of his shoulder. Dean dropped a hand to the back of his neck for a moment. "Just…try to stay still."

Dean took hold of the first quill and slid it out, Sam flinching against him. He kept his hand on the back of Sam's neck, giving a squeeze as he pulled out the next. By the fourth, Sam was sweating and trembling. By the eighth he was reduced to the occasional whimper and all his weight was supported on Dean's shoulder. "Almost done, Sammy." Dean whispered and quickly removed the last three leaving a trail of bloody spots down Sam's sweat damp shirt. "Ok, buddy."

"Feel like…a pincushion." Sam groaned and Dean chuckled.

"Looked like one. Let's get you up." Dean slid his arms under Sam's shoulders and stood, groaning under the heavy weight and supported him until he got his legs under him.

"M'okay." Sam said, though he had yet to open his eyes. He was breathing heavily through the pain and determined to not make Dean carry him out of the woods. "I got this."

Dean snorted. "Yeah I can see that. Come on." He started Sam in a shuffling walk toward the opening partially blocked by the giant, white porcupine and steered him around the hulking body. He breathed through his teeth, ignoring the burn across his hip from the claw marks; time enough to see to his own injuries once he got Sam out. "Motel or hospital, Sammy?"

"Motel." Sam said quickly. "No hospitals dude. I'm good."

"You're gonna have to walk a little better before I believe that." Dean grunted as most of his brother's weight had settled across his shoulders.

"Huh? Sorry." Sam forced his legs back under him and concentrated on watching his feet move; left, right, left, right. He wished they hadn't had to walk two hours into the forest to find the damn creature. He was sure it was taking them twice that to make it back to the car. There were a few times where he lost track, jerking from a doze when Dean cussed or gave him a gentle shake, saying his name.

The sun had set an hour past by the time they reached the car and Dean Heaved a sigh of relief. Sam was mostly out on his feet, only staying awake through sheer will power he knew. None of his wounds were life threatening but altogether they'd sapped Sam of enough blood to make him woozy.

"Here we go, sasquatch." Dean leaned him up against the side of the Impala and got the door open. "In you go." Getting him in was fairly easy as Sam all but melted into the seat with a sigh of relief, head lolling toward the drivers seat. Dean tugged on his shoulder to keep him upright and pulled the seatbelt around him to help. He shut the door and leaned on the roof for a minute just breathing. He pulled his t-shirt up to get a look at his hip and scowled. The wounds were shallow but damn they hurt.

"Albino friggin porcupines." He shook his head, disgusted and went around getting behind the wheel. He started the engine and pulled out, sliding a hand behind Sam's head when he started to list toward him again, asleep. He got a grip on the neck of Sam's shirt and held him up. "No more picking hunts for you."

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"Holy crap!" Sam shouted as Dean poured antiseptic on the bite marks on Sam's stomach, lurching up so he was sitting and hunched over the wounds. His big brother's hand forced him back down on the bed.

"What you get for being a chew toy." Dean smirked and set aside the bottle, grabbing a pad of gauze and taped it gently over the wounds. Sam gave him his patented bitch face, making him chuckle. Dean reached into the first aid kit and pulled out the bottle of Tylenol, dumping four into his hand and held them out.

"I'm good." Sam shook his head but Dean only glared at him.

"You've already got a fever, Sammy." Dean took his hand and dumped the pills in, then handed him a bottle of water. "Take em now before I have to force em down your throat later."

Sam grimaced, feeling the fever heat that was already making him uncomfortable and not liking one bit that Dean was right. He took the pills and swallowed them, emptying half the bottle of water before handing it back. "Thanks." He let his head drop back to the pillow in exhaustion and felt Dean's hand sweep his hair off his forehead, cool hand resting on his brow for a moment.

"Just get some sleep, Sam." Dean told him.

"Don't want to." Sam muttered, already half asleep and turned into his brother's touch without thinking. "Nightmares."

"I know, Sammy." Dean kept his hand on the side of his little brother's face. Normally averse to chick flick moments, he knew Sam spent most nights lately tortured by memories of Palo Alto; having a fever wasn't going to make it any easier so he gave the little comfort he could, letting him know he was there while he slept. Sam sighed, settling into the bed more firmly, hand falling away from his stomach and fell into sleep with Dean beside him. "It's ok, Sammy. I've got you." Dean said softly and settled in for a long night.

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_The End._


	4. For Colby's Girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For Colby's girl: If I could have a one shot about Sam being hurt somehow by Dean or because of Dean's actions or decision on a hunt. Then Dean taking care of Sam's injuries all the while talking through the guilt. Hmmm. Is that ok? Set in season 1 or 2.

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"Sam, dammit. Let it go already." Dean groaned and turned back to the dartboard with a growl, throwing for and hopelessly missing the bull's-eye as his hand shook with temper. The bar was thankfully busy enough that no one really paid attention to their raised voices. Most of the patrons of this fine, greasy establishment seemed to be Bikers and they likely wouldn't care if an all-out brawl broke out.

"Dean, you're still pissed at me!" Sam pushed. It was eating him up inside, the things he had said to Dean while brain washed by a psychotic ghost and worse; he'd shot him. He'd shot his own brother; ok it was only rock salt and the wounds were healing but he'd shot him and ghostly possession or not Dean didn't seem to be putting it behind him quite as easily as he claimed.

"it's fine, Sam." Dean threw another dart, glancing off the edge of the board this time and raised his hand to lob the third when Sam stepped in between him and the dart board. He restrained the urge to throw it anyway and lowered his arm. "Better door than a window, Sam. Get the hell out of the way."

"Dean…" Sam started but Dean took his shoulders in a steely grip and pulled him away, spinning him back toward the table and their beers. He collided with the table, nearly knocking the beers over.

"I do NOT want to have this discussion, Sam." Dean growled.

"This little shit giving you trouble?" A tattooed biker clothed in black leather and chains stood up from the table beyond theirs.

"Yeah, he's an ass." Dean said and scrubbed a hand over his face. He tossed the last dart on the table. "I'm hitting the head. Shut up, Sam." He told his brother's open mouth and walked away to the back of the bar. He pushed through the door, slamming it behind him and bent over the sink. He rubbed a hand over his chest and the healing blisters. He supposed he should be grateful he'd been wearing several layers and a heavy jacket when his little brother had pumped a rock salt round into him. The pain of that betrayal still burned through him. He understood Sam had had Dr. Strangelove in his head at the time but the words had been his; of that he was sure. Those thoughts were rattling around the kids' head and the Doc had just given them an outlet.

He looked up into the mirror and saw disgust with himself all over his face. He did understand some of the resentment Sam was feeling. He was smart enough to understand that their Dad's iron adherence to the Hunt had driven Sam away and that Dean had stepped into that role with him after Jess' death. At the time, Sam had needed it. They both had. Sam was in danger of sailing off the deep end of the revenge pier along with their Dad and Dean didn't want to see that happen. He was just trying to give Sam a direction other than hate. He sighed and aimed a halfhearted punch at the mirror. As much as he wanted to find their Dad he also feared what would happen when they did and Sam…how was he going to explain to their Dad that Sam had the friggin shining? Like the kid didn't have enough crap heaped on him already, now he had to deal with seeing the future.

"Dammit." Dean turned the water on and splashed some on his face. He owed his little brother an apology, he knew it. He could see the pain and guilt of what had happened in the asylum in every line of his brother's body but dammit he wanted to be pissed at him. A commotion outside the bathroom drew Dean's head up. He heard shouts, a crash and rolled his eyes. "Great." Someone had started a brawl. Time to find his little brother and get out before they got caught up in it. He dried his face on his sleeve and pulled the door open.

Dean headed for their table and frowned, seeing a wall of leather clad bikers disturbingly close to where he'd left Sam. He shoved two people out of his way, pushing to the front and his jaw dropped. Sam was being held between two burly Hell's Angels while a third drove his fist mercilessly into his unprotected stomach. Their table was over turned as were several others and at least four of the men standing around him boasted signs that Sam hadn't given it without a fight. A meaty hand settled on Dean's shoulder and turned him to face a whisky heavy grin.

"We're takin' care of him for ya." The man said with a laugh and Dean, after a moment, realized it was the guy who'd asked if Sam was giving him trouble before he'd gone to the bathroom.

"Oh my god." Dean breathed as guilt fell into his stomach like a stone. This was his fault. Dean didn't bother trying to argue. He stepped forward and grabbed the arm of the man aiming another punch at Sam's head and ruthlessly twisted it back, landing his own solid hit to his jaw and let him topple to the floor. "Get the hell off my brother." Dean told the men holding him. He resisted the urge to pull the gun from the small of his back, not wanting to up the violence level unless he had to. He glared at the men, letting them see just how much damage he was going to do to them if they didn't listen. They did, dropping Sam's arms and let him fall. Dean jumped forward and caught Sam around the chest before he could hit the floor. "Sammy?"

Sam got his head up with a fight, blinking at his brother. "Dean?"

"Hang on, buddy." Dean pulled his arm over his shoulder and straightened, glaring at the circle of onlookers as he aimed for the door. Thankfully, they all seemed to read the danger in his green eyes and stepped out of his way, letting them pass. Sam was walking on sheer willpower, verging on unconsciousness. They emerged into the cool night air and Dean heaved a sigh of relief to have escaped without having to tear the place up.

"S…sorry, Dean." Sam mumbled, head lolling until it rolled onto his brother's shoulder.

"Shh, Sammy." Dean quieted him. "Not your fault." He got them to the car, opened the passenger door and eased Sam into the seat. He bent to put his feet in and hissed between his teeth. Sam's right pant leg was torn up and leaking blood from a long gash. The guilt rose up to choke him as he gently put his brother's leg inside and closed the door. He leaned on the roof for a minute and stared out at nothing. "What the hell did I do?" He shook his head and went around to the drivers' side, sliding in behind the wheel as the bar door opened and two of the men who'd jumped Sam came out, glancing around the lot. Dean gunned the engine and pulled out in a squeal of tires.

They hadn't stopped for the night when Dean had pulled into the bar, in need of a drink. He drove with purpose, eyes scanning for the first Motel he could find. He had one hand on the wheel and the other on his brother's shoulder, propping him up. He felt a trickle of something arm slide over his fingers and moved his hand up to the nape of Sam's neck, cursing when he felt more blood and understood how they'd gotten the best of him; someone had cracked him over the back of the head.

"Sam? You with me?" Dean squeezed his neck and got a groan in response. "Good enough." He saw a sign for the Penny Wise Motel and turned off, following the dark road until the sign appeared over a rise. Dean parked in front of the office. "Back in a sec, Sam." He told his brother. Though Sam's head shifted, he wasn't sure he actually heard. He rented them a room in record time, back in the car in under five minutes. Sam had slid over to rest his head against the passenger door and barely stirred as Dean climbed back in and got them moving again.

He parked in front of their room, darting out to get the door open and lights on before returning to the car and his brother. He unclipped the seat belt and turned Sam's shoulders to face him. "Sam? Gotta wake up for me, man." Sam's head bobbed on his shoulders and he raised one arm weakly to rest on Dean's shoulder. "That's my boy." Dean pulled him up, careful of his wounded leg and got him standing. He pushed the door shut and grunted when Sam gave way and collapsed. "Crap." Having no alternative, he bent and tipped Sam over his shoulder, carrying him inside the room. He laid him gently on the bed furthest from the door.

"Don't go anywhere." Dean said and ran back outside to grab their bags from the trunk. Sam hadn't moved when he returned and went through his bag, pulling out the first aid kit and the bottles of water he'd grabbed from the trunk. He set them on the bed next to Sam and went about getting his jacket off him, not as easy as it seemed with a boneless sasquatch. He laid Sam back, trying not to panic at the red stain left on the pillow from his head.

He turned to Sam's leg and pulled off his shoes then grabbed the scissors from the kit. "Sorry, buddy. Have to get you some new jeans." Dean said with a smirk and cut up the front of the right let, laying the pieces of denim to the side so he could get a better look at the gash. It was long and jagged and was going to have to be stitched closed. He popped the cap on one of the water bottles and poured it into the wound, irrigating it and hopefully washing out anything that would cause an infection. Sam moaned and shifted.

"Dean?" Sam raised his head slightly, looking blearily up at his big brother and then around the room, brows rising. "When'd we get here?"

Dean shook his head and laughed. "About thirty seconds before your lights went out." He pressed some gauze over the gash, making Sam wince and then went to sit up beside him. "Let's get you up. I need to see the gash you've got back there."

Sam nodded slowly and started to push himself up, letting Dean pull his shoulders. As soon as he was sitting the room did a lazy spin and he dropped his head to Dean's shoulder with a groan. "Holy crap."

"Easy, Sammy." Dean shifted him slightly so he could see the back of his head and heard Sam sigh. "You ok?"

Sam shrugged awkwardly against him. "Haven't called me that in a few days." Sam mumbled, letting his eyes close.

Dean stiffened with guilt, closing his eyes and then pushed it away. "I'm…I'm sorry, Sammy." He pulled the long, dark hair out of his way and pressed another gauze pad to the cut he found. It was small and would likely close on its own. "I didn't think…when I left you there…shit."

"S'okay." Sam told him, wincing as Dean pressed into his head to stop the bleeding. "You didn't know…those idiots were…spoiling for a fight." Sam breathed in the scents that were his brother; leather and gun oil and relaxed into him. "Shoulda been…paying attention." He remembered the start of the fight; the two bikers who had flanked his table as Dean vanished into the bathroom, their arms reaching for him as he stepped back and delivered a sharp kick to the face of one, another tackling him from behind into the table, the sharp pain as a broken bottle gouged into his calf. He'd rolled with the hit and knocked two more down, getting to his feet and never saw the hit that took him in the back of the head. It was all fuzzy after that. "Some Hunter…I am."

"Knock it off, Sam." Dean said, more sharply than he intended and felt Sam stiffen against him. He shook his head at himself, somehow unable to stop hurting the kid. He checked the cut, satisfied the bleeding had stopped and laid Sam back down. "This wasn't your fault. You're a friggin awesome Hunter, Sam." He felt himself blush lightly as Sam stared in surprise at him. "Guess I don't say that enough huh?" He rubbed a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry, man. I've been beating you up over the asylum and…I shouldn't." He stood and pulled a chair over to sit by Sam's leg, peeling the blood soaked gauze away. "I'm gonna have to stitch this."

"Dean…" Sam took a breath, trying not to screw up whatever had made his brother finally decide to talk to him. "I swear I did not mean any of the things I said in there." Sam looked down at his brother's chest. Even with his shirt on, Sam could still see the vicious red and bleeding welts he'd caused. "I fought him, Dean. I swear I did. I tried not to…to pull the trigger." Sam had to close his eyes on the sense memory of the gun going off in his hands. He was still having nightmares where the handgun Dean had handed him was loaded.

"Sam." Dean's hand on his arm made him open his eyes and Dean flinched at the tortured look there.

"I shot you, Dean." Sam whispered. "I would never…never."

"Stop it, Sam. I know." Dean gave his arm a light shake and went back to his leg. He took out the suture kit and laid it on the bed, threading the needle. "Just…lay back and lemme do this."

Sam let his head fall back to the pillow, relieved that they were at least speaking again. He flinched as he felt the needle bite into his leg and did his best to ignore it, biting his bottom lip and focused instead on the pounding in his head and the dull ache in his stomach from the punches he'd taken there. He didn't realize he'd passed out until he came too with Dean wiping a cold, wet cloth over his forehead.

"Easy, Sammy." Dean soothed and kept a hand on his shoulder when he tried to sit up. "Don't move, ok?" Sam gave a weak nod, not opening his eyes. "How's your head?"

"Hurts." Sam managed after a minute. He lifted his head to look down at the throbbing pain in his leg and that ended up being a mistake. His concussion suddenly kicked in full force and he felt his stomach start to crawl up his throat. "Dea…"

"Crap." Dean quickly grabbed the trashcan and pulled it over with one arm while rolling Sam to his side with the other and just in time as what little Sam had drank at the bar came back up. "Breathe, Sam. Just breathe." Sam ended with his head hanging over the side of the bed, panting for air as he rested on his brother's leg. Dean eased him back up slowly until he was lying down again and smoothed the shaggy hair off his forehead. Seeing his brother in this condition because of him…he understood now some of what Sam had felt after the Asylum and his own stomach took a couple warning rolls from the guilt.

"M'okay, Dean." Sam told him and grasped his arm. "Not your fault, ok?"

"Would you just stop…being so damn understanding?" Dean groaned and made himself smile. "Don't go all frowny face on me, Francis." Dean said lightly and made Sam roll his eyes at him but that movement was more than his head wanted to handle and Sam groaned, tossing an arm over his face. "Easy, kiddo. Get some sleep." Sam nodded and Dean clicked off the light next to the bed, dimming the room for him.

Dean waited until Sam's breathing evened out with sleep and then went to the other bed, stretching out and let the guilt wash over him and the fear that he very well could have gotten Sam killed or ended the night waiting in some sterile emergency room. He rubbed a hand over his chest and found it didn't hurt so much now. He let his head fall back and drifted to sleep without being aware.

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Dean woke with a start when the bed jerked beneath him. "Huh? Wha?" He hastily turned the light on and scrambled out of bed when he saw Sam collapsed on the floor, leaning against the foot of his bed. "Shit, Sam. What the hell are you doing?"

Sam raised his head and grimaced. "Had to pee." He said, disgusted with himself.

"Then you should have woken me up." Dean groused and got an arm under Sam's shoulder, levering him up.

"I got this." Sam assured him and tried to shrug out from under his brothers' arm but Dean didn't let him, tightening his grip.

"Yeah I can see that, tiger." Dean got him in a shuffling limp toward the bathroom. "Stubborn ass." He got Sam into the bathroom and left him leaning against the wall. "I hear another thump I'm comin' back in."

Sam waved an arm at him and Dean shut the door, giving him his privacy gratefully. A few minutes later the door cracked open and Sam stuck an arm out. "Ok, now help."

Dean snorted a laugh and got under the arm, getting him back to the bed and helping to settle him back against the pillows. Sam had a tendency to revert to younger habits when he felt this crappy and Dean smiled, secretly enjoying it. Taking care of Sam had always been his most important job and feeling needed was what he needed most with Dad gone AWOL. It was settling something inside him to be caring for Sam as his little brother turned his head sleepily into the palm Dean laid at the side of his face to check for fever and was relieved to find him cool. He snagged a pillow from his own bed and lifted Sam's wounded leg gently, sliding the pillow beneath it. Sam started to mutter and Dean dropped a hand onto his shoulder and, as it always had as a child, Sam stilled and fell into sleep.

"I'm sorry, Sammy." Dean said softly and pulled the blanket up over him. "I can't promise you won't piss me off again or that I won't get stupid about it again but…" He shook his head at himself and the private chick flick moment he was having with his brother asleep and thankfully oblivious. "But I love you, Sam." He whispered it so softly he almost couldn't hear his own voice and snorted at himself as he dropped back onto his bed. "Get a grip, Dean." He muttered and rolled into his own blankets. He dropped quickly back into sleep and didn't hear the whispered 'love you too, Dean' from the other bed.

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_The End…_


	5. For threedays

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For threedays: Okay, how about this: a wee or teenchester fic in which Sam realizes how Dean's feeling about something before Dean does. Vague enough for ya? ;)
> 
> A/N+: Definitely vague! Holy crap I struggled with this one so forgive me if it wanders a bit. LOL I was trying to work my way into it. Tags to 1x18 "Something Wicked"I hope I got there. XD

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Sam groaned as Dean dropped his hand onto his forehead for the hundredth time in an hour. "I'm fine, Dean." He told his big brother who ignored him.

"Still got a fever, Sammy." Dean told him. "Sit still." He left and went to the kitchen, grabbing the thermometer and ran a towel under the cold water.

"Dean, you're being a bit over protective, don't you think?" Pastor Jim asked the boy kindly as he watched him from the table, setting his paper aside. Since the last time he'd seen him, Dean seemed to have gone from ten years old to thirty where his little brother was concerned. John had practically left the boys on his doorstep the day before with only a hurried explanation before leaving again.

"He's sick." Dean muttered and wrung out the towel. "He's got a fever."

"It's only a flu, Dean. He'll be fine." Pastor Jim said as he'd said before but Dean only shook his head and went back out to his brother.

"Here, Sammy." Dean sat beside the six year old and laid the towel on his forehead. He brushed Sam's hand away when he tried to push it off. "Leave it on. Here." He stuck the thermometer in Sam's mouth and ignored the glare he got in response.

Sam rolled his eyes and stubbornly refused to admit aloud how good the cold towel felt on his over-warm head. He reached for his bottle of water when Dean pulled the thermometer away and soothed his dry throat. "So am I dyin'?" Sam asked with a smirk.

"Don't even joke, Sam." Dean said suddenly, fiercely and stood up. Sam stared confused up at him and Dean made himself smile. "No, you're fine. Just…it's a little high, ok? You should go to bed."

"How high is it?" Pastor Jim asked, coming into the living room behind Dean.

"A hundred and two." Dean said and reached down, pushing the towel back up on Sam's forehead.

Pastor Jim smiled. "It's not that bad but he's right. You should go to bed, Sam. Come on." Pastor Jim went to the couch and scooped Sam up, blankets and all as he squeaked.

"I can walk!" Sam protested but the Pastor just chuckled and headed for the stairs.

"Shush now, Sam. Tomorrow when you feel better you can do all the running around you want." The Pastor told him and barely heard Dean's muttered 'not in this lifetime' as he went up. He went to the room he kept for the boys and set Sam down in his bed. Dean was there at his side, tucking Sam under the blankets, settling the cold towel on his head again and set his bottle of water beside the bed. "Get some sleep, son." The Pastor patted his shoulder and left the room with Dean climbing into his own bed. He shook his head as he shut the door and wondered what exactly had happened with the Shtriga. All John had told him was that it had nearly gotten Sam. Dean's behavior told him there was more than just that and he decided to call John.

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Sam pushed away from the table and his finally empty bowl of oatmeal. He'd eaten all of it under Dean's watchful eye, knowing there was no way he would get to play outside if Dean thought he wasn't a hundred percent.

"Can I play outside now?" Sam looked hopefully to Pastor Jim who made a show of examining his bowl until Sam giggled.

"Yes, Sam. Stay in the yard though." The Pastor smiled as Sam scrambled off his chair and for the front door. He put a restraining hand on Dean's shoulder when he went to follow. "Dean, sit for a minute."

"No, shouldn't leave him alone." Dean squirmed under the restraining hand as the front door shut.

"He'll be fine for a few minutes." Pastor Jim soothed. "Dean. Would you tell me what happened? With the Shtriga?" He felt Dean tense under his hand and shook his head.

"Ask Dad." Dean said simply and gave a terse shrug. "It came for Sam and it got away."

Jim frowned down at him, noting how Dean wouldn't meet his eyes. "Dean, did something else happen?"

Dean's face, if anything, became more obstinate and he squirmed out from under the Pastor's hand. "Ask Dad, okay? I gotta go check on Sammy." Dean backed out of the kitchen and left the Pastor shaking his head. Normally the boys had no problem talking to him. That Dean would be so tight lipped made him nervous and John, now he thought on it, had barely looked at the boy when he dropped them off. He prayed for patience with John Winchester who, the night before, had told him to mind his own business when he'd called.

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"Sammy?" Dean called as he stepped out onto the porch and pulled his jacket tighter against the cold, Fall wind. His nerves spiked not seeing his little brother in the yard. "Sam!" He called louder and heard a group of voices on the other side of the hedge beside the rectory. He jogged down the lawn and around the hedge and then ran. Sam was down on the sidewalk with three much larger boys standing over him.

"Get away from him!" Dean yelled and tackled the largest of the kids to the ground. They were older than him and bigger but he didn't care. Sam needed him again and again he'd failed. He rocked back to his feet and turned on the other two. "You leave him alone!"

"Geez kid, we were just messin' with him." One of the boys said and stepped back, laughing. "Not our fault he tripped."

Dean ignored him and bent to pull Sam up from his knees. "Hey, Sammy."

Sam had a hand to his chin and thin trails of blood seeped out between his fingers. He looked up at his big brother with liquid eyes. "Can we go home, Dean?" Sam asked and Dean nodded. He draped an arm over his shoulders and backed them away from the boys.

"You come near him again and I'll make you regret it." Dean warned and turned his back at the hedge as they laughed and jeered. "Come on, Sammy."

"M'okay, Dean." Sam said, hand still over his mouth. "They were just teasin n' I fell."

"You mean they pushed you." Dean growled as they reached the porch.

Sam shrugged. "It's ok, Dean." He tried to assure him, wanting to be bigger than he was but he couldn't stop himself huddling in against Dean's side as the boys laughed behind them, only relaxing once they were inside again.

"Pastor Jim!" Dean shouted and pushed Sam toward the kitchen. The Pastor immediately appeared, eyes widening in surprise.

"What happened?" The Pastor bent and picked up Sam, setting him on the counter where he could get a better look.

Dean glared at him. "You said he'd be okay for a few minutes but there were boys out there and they hurt him." Dean all but accused him. He couldn't keep the anger out of his voice.

"Let me see, Sammy." Pastor Jim pried the boys hand from his chin and grabbed up a washcloth, gently wiping away some of the blood. "Oh this is just a little cut, Dean. Heal in no time." Dean dragged a chair over from the table so he could stand and reach Sam's face. He took the washcloth from the Pastor.

"I've got him." Dean said firmly and started cleaning the blood from Sam's chin and neck. The Pastor sighed and backed away, unwilling to argue with the boy when he was so obviously upset. Instead, he gathered band-aids and alcohol and set them beside the boys.

"Make sure you clean it well." Pastor Jim told Dean. "Don't want to get an infection. I'll be right back." Since Dean wouldn't let him help his brother, he would just see which boys had decided to start violence in front of his parish and sort them instead.

"Ow, Dean." Sam grumbled and Dean rested a hand on his little brother's neck.

"Sorry, tiger." Dean smiled for him and wiped the rest of the blood away before grabbing the bottle of alcohol and soaking the washcloth. "This is gonna sting, ok?" Sam nodded and blinked furiously at the tears that formed in his eyes as Dean sterilized the cut. "There we go. All done." Sam had both hands fisted in his jacket as he worked at covering the cut with band-aids and drew his brother into a hug when he was done. "All better." Sam buried his face in his brother's neck and Dean frowned when he felt heat there again. He pulled Sam back and rubbed a hand over his forehead, pushing his hair out of the way.

"I gotta fever again?" Sam asked sadly and Dean nodded.

"Let's get you in bed, ok midget?" Dean jumped down to the floor and caught Sam as he slid off the counter, lowering him and steered him toward the stairs.

"Not a midget." Sam told him firmly as they walked up. "I'm six."

Dean smirked and ruffled Sam's hair. "Yeah I know. Still a midget."

"I'm gonna get taller than you someday." Sam assured him as Dean pushed him toward his bed.

"Keep dreamin' short stuff. Get in." Dean pulled the blankets back as Sam dutifully climbed up into the bed and laid down. He covered his little brother, tucking the blankets in around him.

"It's not your fault, you know." Sam said suddenly and Dean stilled, looking up at him.

"What?" Dean asked, wondering if Sam had suddenly remembered the Shtriga and Dean failing to protect him.

"What happened. It's not your fault." Sam snuggled into the blankets and grabbed Dean's hand, pulling that with him and wrapping his arms around it. "You're just a kid too." Sam told him as Dean was forced to sit so Sam could have his arm. "S'posed to be the grown-ups who take care of us."

"It's _my_ job to take care of you, Sammy." Dean said quietly and smoothed damp hair off Sam's forehead. "I screwed up."

"Nuh-uh." Sam insisted, snuggling deeper into the blankets with his brothers' arm. "You didn't know it was gonna happen. Geez, Dean for a grown up you can be awful stupid sometimes." Sam chuckled and giggled fiercely when Dean tickled him. "Can you see the future?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Of course not."

"Then it's not your fault." Sam blinked groggily up at him before settling back with Dean's arm. "Can't see what's comin' then it's not your fault. 'sides, I'm fine." Sam drifted off and Dean let his hand comb through Sam's hair again. He realized Sam was only talking about the bullies but it was strangely fitting.

"Still my job to protect you, Sammy." Dean whispered so as not to wake him now he was dozing. "That's twice I let you outta my sight when I shouldn't." He dropped his head. "No wonder Dad doesn't trust me now." He said sadly and knew that was what was really upsetting him. He did understand that the bullies weren't his fault and maybe…maybe the Shtriga, but what was really hurting him was the look in their father's eyes. "I'm sorry, Sammy."

Pastor Jim stood silently in the bedroom doorway, having heard all of it and soundlessly moved away and back downstairs. Now he had a better idea of what had happened and resolved to have a long talk with John when he returned. No little boy should have that much weight heaped on his shoulders.

Dean settled in beside his brother, not bothering to get his arm back and waited for him to wake up. He wouldn't be leaving his side again, not for anything.

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_The End._


	6. For Kelisem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For Kelisem: I have wondered what happened to Jared and Jensen during The French Mistake.(6x15) I would like to see them somehow observing everything Sam and Dean do, but they can only interact with each other. Really want to see Jared's reaction to Sam heading off with Gen. By the end,.I hope they act more like the real Jared and Jensen. Maybe have them come back to their reality back at the beginning of the ep, where only they know something happened (so the while crew doesn't die). What do you think?
> 
> A/N: Holy crap this was tough! Two sets of boys at once? My Muse almost couldn't handle it. She was cowering behind the chair and refusing to come out until Sparkiebunny unstuck me with a brilliant way to do this! Thank you Callie! *hugs* You're fudgin' awesome!

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"Jensen?" Jared Padalecki rolled to his side and groaned. "Next time the stunt guys go through the window." He muttered and looked blearily around. Jensen Ackles lay next to him and stirred. He poked his shoulder. "Hey, you ok?"

"So, no angels?" The voice was his and Jared looked up in shock to see…himself standing over him

"No angels I think." A second Jensen said and Jared gave his head a firm shake but they were still there as he looked back up.

"What the hell is going on?" Jared turned back to see Jensen, the first Jensen staring at their doubles.

"Jared?" Jensen said, looking between them and Jared nodded.

"Okay, I'm confused." Jared said and then looked up at himself again, jaw dropping.

"Should we be…killing anybody?" Other Jared asked.

"I don't think so." Other Jensen replied.

"Dude. What the hell?" Jensen climbed to his feet with Jared and they watched…themselves and the crew swarming around them. "Robert!" Jensen shouted but the Producer didn't even glance up. Jensen skirted their doubles and went over to him behind the bank of monitors, Jared following behind him. "Robert, who the hell are those guys?" When he didn't answer, Jensen reached out to grab his shoulder and his hand passed through.

"Oh…my…god." Jared's eyes widened into saucers and tried to touch the monitors with the same effect. "What…are we…dead?"

"What? No!" Jensen shouted, terrified and confused. "I mean, we…we can't be. Are we? No! Okay." He turned back to look at their doubles being led off for make-up and an interview. "Dude, we're dreaming."

"Wait, both of us?" Jared's brows rose. "Like…together?"

"Stranger things have happened man." Jensen walked over toward his double as other Jared arrived. They listened to their conversation, following them outside and he slapped his head. "Jared, we're dreaming about ourselves being Sam and Dean."

"Why would we dream about that?" Jared listened to the men and smirked when other Jensen began praying for Castiel to appear. "Dude, you look like an idiot."

Jensen shoved him. "Right, you know how goofy you look when you start rockin' the Sammy puppy dog eyes?" He pointed and Jared laughed. "What the hell, man, why not? It's a friggin' dream, a free ride to our subconscious. Might as well enjoy the ride." Jensen shrugged and then pointed. "Hey, there's Misha!" Their dream selves saw him at the same time and ran.

"Are you sure we're dreaming?" Jared asked suddenly. "I mean, we don't, you know…do anything together. Why would we dream together?"

"Hey, why don't we?" Jensen asked, chuckling as Misha started Twittering or whatever the hell it was. He followed their dreamselves to his trailer, Jared at his side.

"I dunno." Jared shrugged. "I always thought you were a little, you know…"

"Stuck up? Yeah I thought the same thing about you." Jensen grinned and Jared laughed.

"What do you suppose dream us is up to?" Jared wondered as they listened to them discussing Angels and spells as though they were in a scene.

"Sounds like we're…I mean they're trying to get home or something." Jensen peered at the strange sigil his dream self held up. "This is turning into one strange dream."

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"Get your dream feet off my couch." Jared slapped Jensen's shoulder with a smirk as his dream self, Dean snored cheerfully away on the long leather couch. "So in our dreams we think we're our characters and start hunting down desiccated body parts of saints for obscure rituals. We are six kinds of screwed up."

Jensen laughed as dream Sam came around the corner at the same time as Genevieve returned. "Dude, could dream you be more awkward with your wife?"

"Shut up." Jared said, watching his dream self and his wife with a scowl. "You know, I know it's a dream and all but dammit that's still disturbing." He sighed as his wife pulled Sam up the stairs after her. "Why is he so weird with her? Gen's awesome!"

"Don't know what to tell ya man." Jensen shrugged. "But your dream-you looks pretty damn awkward. Maybe you don't really like her as much as you think you do."

Jared shot him a sarcastic glare. "Yeah and maybe we're both really 'Hunters' going around killing ghosts and demons and shit every day. It's a dream, dumb-ass."

Jensen smirked and conceded. "Point taken."

"Gen's the best thing that ever happened to me." Jared said softly. Jensen clapped him on the shoulder.

"Yeah she is dude." Jensen smiled at the surprise on his face. "Man you never smiled so much before you two got together." He shook his head and looked longingly at his doppelganger's discarded beer. "Man I wish we could touch things."

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"Man we are whooping that guy's ass!" Jensen and Jared stood to the side as their dream selves, Sam and Dean beat the piss out of the Angel chasing them. "Do we look this cool on screen?"

"I hope so." Jared grinned and then gasped as Sam and Dean were suddenly pulled backwards through the motel set's window. "Whoa!"

"Jared?" Jensen called as his vision started to white out and it felt as though the room was spinning. "What…" He never finished the sentence as the swirling sensation sucked him down and into oblivion.

Jared shook his head and raised it slowly, looking up blearily. "Crap." He breathed and saw Jensen stirring beside him. "What the hell happened now?"

"Jared! Jensen! Good take!"

Both men looked up and realized they were sprawled on the pads in front of the now empty window of Bobby's house set where the whole dream had started. They looked up to see Robert Singer, the Producer turn away with a smile back to the monitors.

"Whoa." Jensen pushed himself up to his knees. "We get knocked out or something when we went through the window?"

"You remember…that dream?" Jared asked cautiously and Jared nodded.

"Yeah. Ok, that was freaky." Jensen stood and reached down, pulling Jared up with him.

"Jared! We need you for a few minutes!" A blonde woman, the interviewer strode over and took his arm, pulling him away as he followed in a fog.

The rest of the day passed the same for them, as though they were in a fog. They found Misha at one point and each gave the man a short hug. Having seen him 'die' in their dream they both felt relieved to see him alive and walking around. Both men giggled as they left a flustered Misha tweeting once more about their antics and ended up in Jensen's trailer.

Jared flopped onto the leather sofa and stared blankly at the television while Jensen grabbed them both a beer. He dropped onto the sofa next to Jared and handed him one.

"Dude, that was bizzaro world or something." Jensen said finally and took a long pull from his beer.

"Yeah but it was…I dunno, revealing." Jared glanced over at him. "We've been at this six years man. We should be closer than we are."

Jensen snorted a laugh and drank again. "Like Sam and Dean you mean?" He shook his head. "Wouldn't be where I am without you, I know that." He said, serious all of a sudden. "Can't believe I'd never bothered to go to your house before."

Jared nodded. "We should do this." He raised his beer and clinked it against Jensen's. "You know, hang out. Be…well, friends."

Jensen bumped his shoulder against Jared's and grabbed the remote. He flipped the tv on, smiling as a Hockey game appeared and sat back. "No more ignoring each other." He chuckled to match Jared's and together they leaned back to watch the game, matching each other beer for beer while their alternate selves in their alternate universe did the same with a bottle of Bobby's Hunters helper.

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_Okay…I don't know if this was really good or really awful so I'll let you tell me. LOL Hope it was alright Kelisem!_


	7. For Sparkiebunny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For Sparkiebunny: Whenever! No preference on the season. PLOT: Dean gets drunk, spurring a fight between he and Sam. He says (or does) something to Sam that he'll regret later. Sam, hurt by his brother's words/actions, stops fighting instantly, and decides to go for a walk to give Dean some cool-down time. He crosses the street outside the motel and Dean already regrets his actions. Feeling guilty, Dean follows Sam out, but as he crosses the street, a passing car is driving recklessly. Sam turns in time to see the car on its deadly path straight at Dean, who is too buzzed and preoccupied to notice. Sam (being the awesomely heroic guy he is) sprints at Dean, shoving him out of the way just in time. But not in time to save himself; he's badly hurt. Dean rushes to Sam, all big-brotherly and such, rides with him to the hospital, and remains by his side. When Sam awakens (after a near brush with death), Dean is apologetic and guilty, but Sam brushes it off, forgiving Dean without Dean even having to ask. Because that is, after all, the Winchester way. :)

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"Hey hand me that bottle, Sammy." Dean grinned over from where he sprawled on his bed, watching the television and tossing the occasional fistful of popcorn at the screen and the cheesy Godzilla movie playing. "I'm empty."

"Good." Sam grumbled and stubbornly did not give his brother the bottle of whiskey sitting beside him on the table. He growled when a handful of popcorn showered onto his head and glared at Dean. "You've had enough."

That comment went straight to Dean's ever shortening fuse and he returned the glare. "I'll decide when I've had enough, Sam. Give me the bottle."

"No." Sam scrubbed a hand over his face. Since their father's death, Dean was doing anything but dealing with it; preferring instead to bury himself in a bottle. Watching his big brother do this to himself every day was killing him. "Dean, you've gotta stop this. I know you're hurting…"

"Oh god, Sam don't you start with me on that shit." Dean banged his head back into the wall and stood up. "Not again. I do not need your touchy-feely crap right now."

Sam did his best to swallow the hurt, reminding himself that Dean was drunk. "You can't keep doing this, Dean."

"Yes. I can." Dean stalked over to the table and swiped the whiskey bottle before Sam could stop him. "You deal with it your way. I'll deal with it mine." He said, opened the bottle and took a long swig to prove his point. He turned back to the bed, wobbling for a moment before sitting back down.

"This isn't 'dealing' with anything Dean!" Sam's voice rose and he fought to keep it level. "I can't stand watching you do this to yourself!"

"Then don't!" Dean shouted. A muffled thump came from the wall of the room next door and Dean took the empty whiskey bottle, throwing it at the wall with a crash. "Mind your own business!" He yelled before turning back to Sam. "Get the hell out if you don't like it, Sam. I'm not gonna have some damn Oprah moment and cry on your shoulder just so you can feel better about the shitty way you left things with Dad!"

Sam flinched back as if hit, the pain of that vicious statement driving tears into his eyes but he didn't let them fall. "Dean…" He started and found there was nothing he could think of to say because the reality was, he agreed with Dean. The regret of his last conversation with his father was choking him. He nodded instead and stood. "Ok." He said; voice hoarse and strode to the door and outside, shutting it quietly. Sam headed out to the street. He didn't really care where he was going, he just needed to walk and be somewhere else right then. Tears spilled over and down his cheeks in the brisk night air as he reached the street and crossed and he didn't care.

Dean sat in shock on the bed, whiskey bottle forgotten in his hand as he watched Sam stand. His brother's face had gone white and he could see those blue-green eyes swimming before Sam turned away and left. Even his whiskey soaked brain was having trouble accepting the hurtful thing he'd just shouted. Dean's stomach turned violently and he let the bottle drop to the floor.

"Son of a bitch." He groaned and got unsteadily off the bed. "What the hell, Dean?" He asked of himself and went to the door. It was the middle of the night and he wasn't just going to let Sam wander off on the damn streets somewhere because _he_ was too screwed up to stay sober and help him. He threw the door open and looked out, glad to see Sam not that far ahead of him, just crossing the street.

Dean jogged toward him to catch up with the long-legged stride. "Sam! Sam, wait!"

Sam stepped up onto the other side of the street, wiping his face and startled when he heard Dean's voice. He turned in surprise and saw Dean jogging toward him. "Dean?" Movement to Dean's left caught his eye and he looked over, fear stabbing into his belly. A car was weaving down the road, headlights off and the lights from the dash showing the drivers head bent down and unseeing. All this Sam processed in the millisecond before realizing that Dean had no idea the car was there as he stepped down into the street and into its path. "Dean!"

Dean watched in confusion as Sam turned and then sprinted for him. In his intoxication he didn't have time to react as Sam plowed into him, throwing him backwards. Dean flew backward and landed with a grunt, rolling to a stop in the grass in front of the motel. He pushed himself up, woozy and shook his head. "What the hell, Sam?" He yelled and rolled over, expecting to see his brother lying beside him but he wasn't. Squealing tires pulled his eyes up and to the right and he felt the bottom drop out of his world. A black car sat half up on the curb and just in front of it laid Sam on his back and not moving.

"Oh my god." Dean breathed and lurched to his feet. He ran, the alcohol suddenly burned out of his head, sober in an instant and fell to his knees beside his little brother. "Sam? Sammy?" He didn't register the driver getting out and stumbling over to them, he had eyes only for the blood covering half of Sam's face, the odd angle of his right leg. He put shaking fingers to his neck and felt the stuttering pulse there. He fumbled his cell from his pocket and called 911. He gave them the address and then dropped the phone, ignoring the dispatcher's questions. "Sammy? Come on, buddy. Wake up." He ghosted a hand through his brother's chestnut hair, flinching at the feel of blood saturating it and rested his other hand gently on Sam's chest. His breathing was too shallow, too uneven and Dean silently willed the ambulance to hurry.

"Oh…oh god. I didn't see him! I never even saw him!" The man from the car was standing over them, hands on his head in shock. "God he came out of nowhere! I wasn't…oh god is he dead? Did I kill him?"

Dean ignored him and the tinny voice of the emergency dispatcher. He kept his hands on Sam, talking to him, trying to rouse him and more importantly; to keep him there. "Hey, Sammy. You're scaring the crap out of me here. You gotta hang on." His voice wavered, eyes damp as Sam stubbornly remained unconscious. "Please wake up, Sam."

He didn't even register the arrival of the officers or the ambulance until hands were pulling him away and he fought them.

"Sir. Sir! You need to let us help him!" A woman's voice shouted in his ear and a light slap stung his cheek. He looked up, understanding help had come and he let them pull him away. "Good. "You going to ride with him?" Dean nodded. "Ok, just let us stabilize him."

Dean stood back and watched, ringing his hands with the unnerving feeling of being helpless again. When they finally loaded his brother into the ambulance, Dean was there, climbing in along with them and sat as close to Sam's head as he could and still leave the EMT room to work. The woman worked quickly, assessing the damage, speaking into a radio and letting the hospital know what to expect. Just when Dean was beginning to feel as if they'd dodged a bullet her eyes went wide and she climbed on top of Sam's gurney and started chest compressions.

"Dave, floor it! He's coding!" She shouted and the world spiraled down on Dean once more. He reached a hand out, resting it in Sam's hair while the woman fought to keep his little brother's heart beating long enough.

"Don't you leave me, Sammy. Don't you dare." Dean said into his ear, leaning forward. "You hear me? You fight. You fight, Sammy."

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Dean sat beside Sam's bed in the hospital room. They were in the Intensive Care Unit. In the twenty-four hours since the crash he had run the gambit of emotions from anger at Sam for putting himself in harms' way for his sake and self-hate for the things he'd said that had driven Sam from the room last night. He understood now. He understood the regret that was drowning his little brother. The soul killing ache of knowing the last words spoken to someone you love were in anger; of knowing you would never be able to take them back, to simply say 'I didn't mean it.'. The realization took his breath away and he hated himself for ever saying those things to Sam. He leaned into the bed, carding a hand through Sam's hair for the hundredth time, letting it rest there.

"Sammy, you gotta wake up now. The doctors, they said…well they said a lot of stuff about oxygen deprivation and brain damage and that you might never come out of this." Dean ducked his head, swallowing against the fear choking him. "You're gonna prove them wrong. You hear me, Sam? You prove them wrong. You wake up. I need you to wake up." He looked at the stitches in Sam's forehead; the cast wrapped around his leg and knew there were bandages around his chest as well to stabilize the broken ribs. The wires running from under his hospital gown and IV lines were disturbing but he was beyond relieved when they'd removed the ventilator a few hours earlier.

"Sir, you should go home. Get some sleep." A nurse said as she came into the room. She looked sadly on the young man who hadn't left his brother's side since they'd wheeled him out of surgery.

"Can't leave him." Dean said and laid his hand over Sam's chest so he could feel the rhythm of his heartbeat and his chest moving as he breathed. The only thought in Dean's mind was, Sam had left Dad and missed his chance. Dean wasn't going to miss his.

"It could be days; weeks even. You have to rest sometime." The Nurse smiled and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"I'm good." Dean said firmly and spared a glance up at her. "Thank you."

"Alright." She quickly checked her patient's vitals and then left them alone, making a mental note to bring the young man a blanket and a pillow later.

"Got some hot nurses here, Sam." Dean said and gave a weak smile. "Can't believe you're sleeping through this."

He froze, eyes going to his brother's face when he felt the chest beneath his hand hitch. "Sammy?" Dean watched as Sam's eyes began to move beneath his eyelids. He leaned in further. "That's it, Sammy. Come on. Wake up." Sam's arm's twitched, his head tilted toward the sound of Dean's voice. Dean ran his hand through Sam's hair again and waited, breaking into a huge grin as Sam's eyes slowly cracked open. "Hey, tiger. Welcome back."

Sam fought to get his eyes open all the way. He could see white tile ceiling and smell antiseptic and frowned. "Hospital?" He asked in a voice almost silent his throat was so dry.

"Yeah. You had an argument with a car." Dean smiled but it was weak and Sam frowned at the shine of tears in Dean's eyes. "The car won."

"M'okay?" Sam asked and watched Dean's eyes, the slight tremble he felt in his big brother's hand on his chest and knew suddenly that it had been far too close.

"Yeah, you're gonna be fine." Dean smoothed his hand through his hair again. "Broken leg, couple ribs and a hell of a skull fracture." Dean looked away then, had to or his tears would fall. "You uh…you almost died on the table…they lost you for a couple minutes." And despite his efforts, the tears fell anyway and he squeezed his eyes shut against them. "God, Sammy, I almost lost you."

"S'okay, Dean." Sam reached a weak arm up, resting it over Dean's hand on his chest. "I'm okay."

"Sam, I'm sorry." Dean looked back at him fiercely. "What I said last night, I never should have said that. I'm so sorry."

Sam shook his head, letting his eyes slip closed for a moment. "It's ok, Dean." Sam looked back up and gave him a smile. "Not your fault."

"Yes it is." Dean shook his head angrily. "If I hadn't been drunk I'd have seen the damn car." He sat back and ran a hand through his own hair. "It's my fault you were out there." He didn't think he would ever forget seeing Sam lying there so still or the paramedic fighting to keep his heart beating in the ambulance.

"I'm the idiot who decided to take a midnight walk." Sam said and smiled ruefully. "It's ok. We're ok." He stared into his brother's green eyes and begged him to believe that and after a few tense moments, Dean nodded and put his hand back to Sam's head.

"Ok." Dean said softly. It was a never ending wonder to him how Sam could forgive so easily; even more how he could forgive the big brother who kept letting him down. He watched the shine of pure trust in Sam's eyes and understood that in his little brother's eyes, he had never let him down. He struggled to accept that responsibility again. He'd forgotten it recently, had let it fall to the side and he vowed not to let it happen again. "Get some sleep, Sammy. I've got you."

Sam smiled as his eyes drifted shut, listening to Dean's voice speaking softly, feeling his hand in his hair and let the comfort of his presence send him back to sleep. They were going to be ok.

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_The End._


	8. For LeighAnnWallace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For LeighAnnWallace: I would like something happy. Sam and Dean,on an uncomplicated hunt, you pick, maybe a wendigo? Nothing haunting Sam, Dean happy to be with his brother and out killing the baddies. Just straightforward hunt. But current timeline, okay? I want to believe our boys can be happy, even after everything they've been through. Or, if you'd rather, they can be on a "vacation", if they even know what that is. Mexico? Sun, sand and surf. You pick. Get it? My only thing is: Happy!

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"You gonna get that bonfire lit anytime soon, princess?" Dean asked with a grin, dumping another load of firewood next to Sam.

"Can't believe you volunteered for a camping trip." Sam chuckled and backed away as flames sprouted in the fire pit.

"I volunteered for a hunt." Dean raised a hand and smirked. "It just happens to include camping."

"I'll set up the tent." Sam strode to the pile of canvas and stopped when Dean waved a hand at him.

"No way. I wanna sleep before dawn." Dean bent and unfolded the tent. "You suck at putting up tents."

"Oh bite me." Sam shot back and shook his head, smiling as he went instead to unpack the cooking gear and get coffee started. He clanged the pots together as he set them down and found the coffee pot with a happy sigh.

"Thought New Mexico would be hot this time of year." Dean commented as he got the center pole of the tent up.

"Not at this altitude." Sam commented, pouring water from his canteen into the coffee pot. "Won't get freezing up this high yet though. You havin' a problem over there?" He asked, looking back to see Dean sifting through the poles with a frown.

"No. I'm not having a problem." Dean threw him a bitch face. "Mind your own business."

Sam snorted a laugh and set the coffee pot close to the now roaring fire. The woods were dense this high up the mountains, the trees stretching high above and filtering through the late afternoon sunlight to dapple down on their clearing. Sam let his eyes roam the tree line and smiled. He went over to Dean and watched his big brother argue with the center pole that insisted on tilting sideways before finally grabbing the canvas from him.

"Back up and let me show you how it's done." Sam smirked.

"Hey!" Dean made a grab for the canvas and got only air as Sam danced out of the way. "Oh you're gonna regret that smart-ass."

Sam gave him a sarcastic smile and bent to pound in a tent stake. "I can outrun you, old man."

Dean's jaw dropped and he stared before bursting out a laugh as Sam went about getting the tent up. He watched him working methodically, giving shape to the tent and marveled at the easy smile on his little brother's face and the sparkle of humor in his eyes in spite of everything coming down at them recently. He shook his head and went over to their packs, amazed that he shared in it at least for today. He smiled and pulled out his own canteen and the camp light.

"Well that's gotta be a record." Sam said, standing back from the tent to view his handiwork.

Dean stood and gave the tent a critical view. "It's lopsided there, Sam Lloyd Wright."

"Is not." Sam backed up another step and tilted his head. "Oh, well maybe a little."

Dean laughed and moved behind him. "Now, about that old man comment." He spun and swept Sam's legs from him, dumping him in the pine needles that covered the clearing with a grunt. He roared a laugh at the look on his little brother's face.

"Oh that's it." Sam climbed back to his feet and dropped into a combat stance with a challenging grin.

"This aint gonna end pretty for you, Sammy." Dean threw his right arm out in a punch only to have it knocked away. He leaned swiftly back out of the way of the foot Sam snapped up at his head. Dean grinned and jumped in as Sam was off balance, tucking his shoulder into his brother's chest and threw him several feet to slide across the ground.

Sam bounced back up with a laugh, brushing needles from his hair and closed with Dean. He tossed another kick and, as he expected, Dean blocked it. Sam reached out with his longer arms; wrapping both hands around Dean's shoulder and returned the favor, tossing him to land at the foot of the tent.

"Oh you sneaky little bastard." Dean chuckled and got to his feet, staying low as Sam neared him to press the advantage. "You're goin' down."

Sam shook his head with a smile and ducked in against Dean, pulling his arm behind him and wrapped him in a hold that was quickly reversed and Sam grunted, weaseling out from the arm around his neck to pull his brother's arm up high, bending him forward. He moved to sweep Dean's legs out from under him and ended up on his back instead.

"Gettin' slow, Sammy." Dean gasped, laughing and narrowly avoided the foot aiming for his midsection. Sam shot to his feet and backed up a step to catch his breath, still grinning.

"Hey, Dean?" Sam shifted his eyes slightly to the right of Dean's shoulder and back. Dean gave him a short nod, raised a brow and Sam gave his own nod.

Dean counted to three in his head and spun as Sam stepped up beside him. Both men drawing flare guns that had been tucked in the back of their pants and fired as one. The Wendigo that had been sneaking up behind them screamed in shock and pain as the flares found their mark and it burned from the inside out, collapsing in a pile of ash and bone beside the campfire.

"Dude, you totally missed its heart." Sam said to Dean with a lopsided grin, lowering the smoking flare gun.

"What? I did not!" Dean slapped his shoulder. "You were like a foot too low. What, you forget they're freakishly tall like you, sasquatch?"

Sam laughed and set the now empty gun beside the campfire. "Knew it was too stupid to resist a noisy camp." He turned, lightning fast, and pulled Dean's left leg up in the air, dumping him on his back and pounced, rolling him over to catch him in a half nelson hold.

"Oh, Sammy you shit!" Dean laughed and surprised himself when he managed to flip Sam's considerable bulk over. Dean dropped an elbow lightly into his stomach, making him grunt and rolled clear. "I win."

"Get out!" Sam rolled to his feet, rubbing his stomach. "I'm not done yet."

Dean chuckled and bent to the campfire. "Yeah but the coffee is." He used the corner of his shirt to pull the metal pot closer. "Go find the cups, genius."

Sam laughed and kicked a spray of pine needles into the back of Dean's head. "Cheater."

"Big brother." Dean brushed the needles from his head and gave a lopsided smirk. "In the job description."

Sam rolled his shoulders out and went to their packs, pulling out the coffee cups and went back. He dropped down to sit beside Dean on the log they'd rolled over earlier and handed him a cup, still smiling and smiled even wider to see the smirk still present on his big brother's face. Dean poured them both a cup and then sat back, head up, to watch the last of the sun's rays sink beyond the mountain across from them through the trees with a contented sigh.

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_The End._


	9. For Jeanny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For Jeanny: Season 6, after M3:TR. Sam's spacy and distracted and Dean doesn't notice at first because he's distracted himself thinking about Lisa and Ben, then he's annoyed because Sam's affecting their hunt, then he's mad and worried because he thinks Sam is still trying to remember and might knock down the wall, and then he's guilty because he hadn't realized Sam was just getting the flu. Sam doesn't catch onto any of this because he's too busy trying to have Dean's back like he promised even though he's feeling awful. Feverish!Sam and Awesome Big Brother!Dean ensue.

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Dean opened the door to their motel room and sighed to find the lights still on and Sam still awake. He'd been hoping to avoid another of his brother's 'looks'; the ones that said he thought Dean was drinking far too much and too often and he knew why. The look usually led to Sam trying to get him to talk about Lisa and Ben which was the whole reason he was climbing in the bottle in the first place. Why would he want to ruin a job well done with a heart to heart?

"Lemme alone, Sam." Dean said shortly to his brother as Sam's dark head rose up from his laptop and, as he'd figured, pinned him with the look.

Sam only shook his head and went back to his screen, not in the mood to argue with his brother at three in the morning. "I've been researching that hunt. I think you're right. It's a poltergeist."

"Course I'm right." Dean tossed at him on his way to the bathroom. "Go to bed Sammy."

Sam sighed as the bathroom door shut and closed the laptop with a weary sigh. It was eating at him, seeing Dean so broken; in so much pain and unable to do anything about it. He scrubbed his hands over his face and made his aching body move from the chair. He considered waiting for Dean to finish in the bathroom but when he heard the shower turn on he gave up and flopped face down on his bed. He managed to tug the comforter mostly over himself, kicked his shoes off to thump on the floor and closed his eyes. He just plain hurt too much, every joint aching and the sickening feeling in his stomach told him he had definitely caught something.

"Don't have time for this." Sam muttered into the pillow and let sleep claim him as the shower ran.

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Sam followed behind Dean as they crossed the construction site to the hulk of the old house waiting to be torn down. Three people had died in the last week; that's what had caught their attention. The house had been painted a deep forest green once, now only remnants of the pain survived in flaking patches on the clapboard siding skewed this way and that on the outer walls. None of the window had any glass left in them, long since broken out by enterprising kids testing their rock throwing skills. The remains of the front porch tilted to one side, propped up by two by fours, looking as though it had once taken a hit from a badly parked car. It was condemned for structural instability and indeed, several people had reportedly fallen through the floors to find themselves trapped in the cellar; one landed badly on the rusted springs of an old bed and didn't survive his rescue.

"Sam!"

Dean's voice made Sam jerk as his brother grabbed his arm, giving him a shake. He didn't realize he'd zoned out until then. "What, Dean?"

"Don't 'what, Dean' me." Dean glared at him. "You're poking at the damn wall again."

"I'm not, Dean. I'm not." Sam tried to reassure him but his brother just glared at him.

"You know what happens if it comes down. Game over, Sammy and I am not gonna lose you all over again just 'cause you can't stop scratching at the damn thing!"

Sam stared in surprise at the vehemence Dean was throwing at him; the anger. He understood it was born of fear and so, rather than make it worse, he just nodded his head. He was so tired, wanting only to curl up somewhere for a week and let whatever was burning through him burn itself out. "Dean…" He started, intending to tell Dean his lack of focus was because he was sick but Dean cut him off.

"Dammit, Sammy." Dean rubbed a hand through his hair and turned away, heading for the house again. "Can't you ever do what you're told? Just this once. Please."

Sam opened his mouth like a guppy and then closed it. He didn't have the energy to try and convince Dean that he was wrong for a change. Sam just nodded and followed along. He pushed down the exhaustion and wiped a hand over his forehead, wiping away the sweat from the fever and unzipped his coat to try and cool off in the cold night air. He needed to have Dean's back and he couldn't do that if he was busy being sick.

Dean barely restrained himself from stomping up to the house. He glanced back and saw Sam following and looked away again. He couldn't keep his mind from straying to Lisa and Ben. He wanted so desperately to be in two places at once; here on the Hunt with Sam and home wrapped up in Lisa's arms but he knew that wasn't fair to her. Hell, it wasn't safe for either of them. He'd almost gotten them killed. That thought stopped his blood cold; they could be dead because of him if not for Sam; Sam watching his brother's back even when he didn't know he was there. He replayed their last moments together, the anger and the guilt; anger from her and Ben, his guilt threatening to swallow him whole. He knew staying away was the right thing to do, whatever they thought but dammit it was so hard to not lie to himself; to convince himself that he could protect them…from him. He grunted in surprise when he was pushed from behind and something heavy crashed behind him.

"What the hell, Dean?" Sam asked, bending to pull his brother up from the ground.

Dean turned and saw a chunk of roofing lying where he had been standing and felt cold down to his toes. "Thanks, Sammy."

"How about you pay attention?" Sam punched his shoulder lightly and headed for the back of the house, turning the corner and leaving Dean to collect himself.

"Nice job, Winchester." Dean groused and shook his head. He went after his brother and caught him just as he was climbing up onto the ramshackle porch. Cleansing the house wasn't an option for them as it was going to be torn down. Fortunately, Sam's research had turned up rumors of the original owner's burial in the basement and he was nearly sure that's who they were dealing with. He'd been a real bastard in life; had refused to sell his house more than once and on his deathbed had promised no one would ever take his home from him.

Sam took hold of the door, hanging by only one hinge and picked it up, moving it out of the way with a low groan. It took more effort than he liked and he straightened quickly, hoping Dean hadn't noticed. His brother handed him a flashlight as he passed him inside the house.

"This place must have been beautiful back in the day." Sam observed softly as he looked around what had once been the kitchen. The floors and walls were dust covered maple, the moldings around the ceiling were covered in delicate scroll work and the remaining lights looked like something from the fifties; frosted glass with delicate floral patterns painted on them.

"Not lookin' very Better Homes and Gardens anymore." Dean smirked and then stepped back quickly as the floor creaked beneath his feet. "Watch where you step or we're taking the express downstairs."

Sam watched him walk carefully out to the hall and braced his arm against the wall for a moment. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, looking for strength as the fever rose and made his head swim.

"Sam! Knock it off and get your ass over here!" Dean shouted, startling him and Sam jerked his hand off the wall at the angry, worried look on Dean's face.

"I'm coming." Sam stayed by the wall, figuring it would be the most stable part of the floor and followed him out. His head felt stuffed, his chest congested and every joint in his body was clamoring for his attention with a cacophony of bone deep aches. "Hey, Dean…"

"Found the cellar stairs." Dean said suddenly and waved him forward as he stepped through a small door. "What's left of them anyway."

Sam sighed, hitching the duffel with the shovels, salt and lighter fluid higher on his shoulder and followed Dean. He'd almost asked him to wait another day or two to finish the hunt and he cursed himself for his own weakness. Waiting would only ensure someone else would fall victim to the pissed off spirit and that was more important than dealing with his stupid Flu.

They headed down the stairs, half of which were gone, stretching their long legs to bridge the gaps between treads. Sam gave a short cry as his weight crumbled a step beneath him. He caught himself on the aging banister, pulling his leg out from the splintered wood.

"You good?" Dean asked anxiously and Sam nodded, waving him on.

"Yeah. Get going before he realizes we're here." Sam made it to the bottom with a sigh of relief and shined his light around the cellar.

The cement of the walls was beginning to crumble with age and water damage. Wires hung in bundles from holes in the ceiling and the floor above. They stepped around piles of debris collapsed in and Dean gave a little shiver passing the twisted remains of the bed that had killed a man. It smelled of must and mold and rotting wood and made Dean's nose twitch with a sneeze.

"Yahtzee!" Dean called as he spotted the back of the cellar floor. It was dirt rather than stone and a roughly six by four area depressed in the distinctive shape of a grave. "Bring the shovels over here."

Sam wiped his brow again, breathing through the dizziness that was now ever present and followed Dean to the grave, dropping the duffel to the dirt. He bent down and pulled out the shovels, handing one to his brother and set his shotgun in easy reach beside Dean's. Sam shucked his jacket off and sighed in relief as the cold air hit him. They dug silently for ten minutes, the only sound that of their shovels biting into the firm earth and clods of dirt hitting the cement wall beyond them.

"Sam!" Dean shouted, pointing behind him.

Sam dropped the shovel and spun to grab up his shotgun. The spirit stood behind him, face contorted in rage and spectral arms reaching as Sam fumbled to get a grip on the gun. His vision was blurring, sweat dripping into his eyes and he fell back against Dean's legs as he raised the gun and fired before the fingers could touch him.

"Shit, Sam!" Dean stared down at him. "What the hell was that?" He opened his mouth to lecture his little brother and then really looked at him; taking in what he hadn't noticed until now. Sam was pale, his skin almost translucent; sweat glistened on his face, colored the neck of his shirt and his eyes were red rimmed. As he watched, Sam's eyes closed and his weight settled more heavily against Dean's legs as he gasped for air. "Crap." Dean dropped down and took Sam's shoulders, leaning him in against his chest for a moment while he ran a hand across his forehead, under the shaggy hair and felt the fever burning there.

"Sorry." Sam gasped. "Just…gimme a sec."

"Sammy." Dean was suddenly overwhelmed with guilt. All this time he'd thought Sam's lapses were because he was poking at the wall in his head and he'd just been sick; sick and sucking it up to back up his big brother…again. "I'm sorry. I should have seen this." Dean said softly. "Come on. You're on ghost watch duty. I'll dig." He tugged Sam up on watery legs and set him against the back wall, handing him the shotgun.

"I can dig." Sam said; his voice weak and made to get up but Dean put a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back.

"Sit and keep Grumpy's happy ass off me while I dig." Dean ordered him and waited until he got a short nod. "Good."

The ghost made three more attempts to stop them, met each time with a blast from Sam's shotgun until Dean salted the bones and set them alight. The spirit appeared one last time to vanish in a fiery blaze. "Rest in peace, jackass." Dean said happily and turned to see Sam letting the shotgun fall slowly the ground, his head dropping back to the cement. Dean tucked the shovels back in the duffel and his shotgun. He reached over and took Sam's from his hand, putting that in as well. He hefted the duffel to his shoulder and then knelt in front of Sam.

"You ready to blow this pop stand?" Dean asked with a smirk and Sam gave him a faded smile and nod. "Ok, sasquatch. Up you go." He took Sam's arms and pulled him up, supporting him until he steadied.

"Jacket." Sam said and tried to bend down to pick up his coat but Dean stopped him and grabbed it up, shoving it into the duffel.

"Got it. Let's go." Dean pulled Sam's arm over his shoulders and flinched at the heat pouring off of him. "Why didn't you tell me how sick you were?"

Sam gave him a disgusted look; one brow arched high and then chuckled when Dean rolled his eyes.

"Right. I wasn't listening." Dean groaned and got him to the bottom of the stairs. "Okay, I'm gonna go up first, you step where I step." He didn't trust Sam to not put another giant foot through the rotten wood on his way up. He got Sam out of the house and outside and frowned as he was carrying more and more of his weight as they neared the car. He couldn't believe he'd let Sam get this bad. There had been a time when Sam couldn't sneeze without Dean knowing he was sick. Hell the wrong color on his face and Dean's Sammy-radar would kick in. This time he had been so wrapped up in his own thoughts of Lisa and worries that Sam was doing what he'd promised not to, he'd missed it. He hated himself a little just then as Sam's breath wheezed in his ear.

"Stop it." Sam said suddenly and took back some of his weight. "Not your fault."

Dean snorted and leaned him up against the side of the Impala. "Outta my head, Sammy." He opened the door and eased him inside before going around and sliding behind the wheel. He stopped on the way to the motel, leaving Sam in the car with his head pressed against the cool window and went into an all-night pharmacy. Ten minutes later he was back in the car with a bag of everything he hoped he'd need to fix up his brother. At the motel, he had to jostle Sam awake. Sam managed to get out of the car on his own but then had leaned up against it, out of energy. Dean didn't tease, just slid under his arm again and got him inside, letting him fall onto his bed furthest from the door with a grateful moan. Dean emptied the bag on the nightstand and grabbed the thermometer.

"Open up, kiddo." Dean grinned at the scowl Sam gave him and stuck the thermometer in his mouth. "Leave it in." He said firmly and got up. He went to the bathroom and filled the ice bucket with water, dousing the remaining ice cubes still in it and grabbed a washcloth before going back to the bed. The thermometer beeped and Sam took it out, looking at it with a scowl. "How bad is it?" Dean asked and Sam made to tuck the thermometer away.

"It's fine." Sam tried a smile and then glared as Dean intercepted his hand, pulling it away from him.

"Yeah cause 103 is totally normal." Dean scowled. "Dude I could fry eggs on your Cro-Magnon forehead." Sam stared up at him, amused. "What? Yes, I occasionally read a book."

Sam snorted a laugh and then sighed lustily when Dean dropped the cold washcloth onto his forehead. "Holy crap."

Dean chuckled and took the cold medicine he'd bought, pouring out a double measure of the stuff and handed it to Sam. "Drink." Sam rolled his eyes but did. He grimaced at the taste and gave a hard shiver. Dean frowned and sighed. "Think you can stand up long enough to go change? Or you wanna sleep in your clothes?"

Sam pulled the washcloth off his head with a nod. "I can do it." He let Dean help him up when his legs refused to cooperate and got into the bathroom, closing the door as Dean set his duffel on the counter. Sam looked at his pasty face in the mirror and groaned. He was covered in fever sweat, body slicked with it and he just couldn't stomach crawling back into bed that way. He reached over and turned on the shower, jumping slightly when the door opened and Dean stalked in.

"You planning on drowning yourself?" Dean asked, his voice irritated though it was concern Sam saw in his eyes.

"Dude, I need a shower." Sam sighed and closed his eyes, dropping to sit on the toilet lid. "Christ, I hurt everywhere."

Dean nodded, seeing the pain around his clenched eyes. "Okay, but I hear anything the size of a sasquatch hitting the floor in here and your dignity's going out the window."

Sam smirked and nodded. "Won't happen." He heard Dean mutter as he closed the door behind him and Sam sincerely hoped it wouldn't happen. He ended up sitting in the bottom of the tub, having sunk down slowly after only a couple minutes under the hot spray. It turned his muscles to jello even as it soothed the ache in his bones.

Dean used the time to beat himself up, waiting for Sam to come out. All his belly aching about not wanting to lose Sam again and he'd let him go on a hunt so sick he could barely stand. He'd gotten lucky, he knew that. If the poltergeist had been a little more with it, a little faster, he could have lost his brother tonight right in front of him. Sam had barely been able to reach his gun in time, let alone get a grip on it. That memory, of the spirits hands reaching for him as he fell back into Dean…that sent a shiver up his spine and cemented his need to take care of him now, like he should have been doing all along.

Twenty minutes later, the shower had yet to stop nor any sounds come from the bathroom. Dean's nerves twitched and he went to the door, cracking it open. "Sammy? You ok in there?"

"Um…yeah." Sam leaned his head back against the tile and turned his head so the spray didn't hit him in the face where he sat. The truth was, he couldn't find the energy to turn off the shower and get out. It all just seemed too much at that moment. He underestimated his big brother's ability to read him as a moment later, Dean's arm snaked around the curtain, cutting off the water. A second after that his arm appeared again with a towel.

"Cover up, princess." Dean told him with a laugh. It would be uncomfortable for them both but he knew Sam didn't have enough steam left to get out on his own. It wouldn't be the first time he had to pull the kid out of a shower when he was too sick to do it himself, it just hadn't happened since they were kids.

"Kay." Sam said finally and Dean pulled the curtain back to see the red, embarrassed face of his brother. "This sucks."

Dean nodded, hearing the congestion in his voice. "Ok, let's get you up." Sam held the towel in place over himself as Dean hoisted him up and out of the tub. He turned and lowered Sam to the toilet again. He worked methodically, saying nothing as he grabbed Sam's sweats and got them partway up his legs then took his shirt and let him tug that on. "Rest's all yours." Dean said and left the bathroom so Sam could stand and pull his pants up on his own.

Sam's face burned, feeling ridiculous that his brother had to help him out of the damn shower. He stood and leaned unevenly against the wall, tugging his sweats up the rest of the way and leaving the towel where it fell. He stepped out of the bathroom and Dean was there, guiding his weaving steps back to the bed, covers turned back already.

"Can take care of m'self." Sam grumbled as Dean pushed him down and earned an amused snort in reply.

"Shut up, Sam." Dean told him, tugging the blankets up over him. Sam curled into himself under the blankets, shivering slightly with fever and Dean watched as he quickly fell asleep. He stretched out on his own bed to spend the night on bed watch and turned the TV on.

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He had no idea what time it was when he jerked awake and Dean cursed himself for falling asleep. He looked over and realized it was Sam that had woken him. "Shit." He rolled off his bed and went to his brother, dropping his hand onto Sam's forehead and cursed again. He was hotter than he'd been before and shifting restlessly, muttering in his fevered sleep about cold and heat and something close to a whimper fell from his lips, making Dean's heart clench. He realized with fear the fever must be making the wall weaken while he slept.

"Hang on, Sammy." Dean ran to the door, grabbing the ice bucket on his way and dashed around the corner of the building to where he knew the ice machine was hidden. He filled it quickly, leaving a scattering of ice cubes on the cement before running back. Sam was in full nightmare mode when he got back, thrashing beneath the blankets and as Dean set the bucket down beside him, he cried out.

"Sammy." Dean took his shoulders and gave him a shake. "Come on, tiger. Wake up. It's just a dream." He shook harder, wondering if this was another fit; if this was the time he'd lose him and gasped out in relief when Sam's eyes cracked open to look up at him.

"Dean?" Sam asked. His voice was weak, congested and sounded pitiful to his own ears.

"Hey, kiddo." Dean gave his shoulder a pat and smiled. "You expecting Santa Claus?"

"Not real." Sam replied and then smiled faintly. "Some asshat told me so when I was a kid."

Dean laughed and went quickly to the bathroom, coming back out with a handful of hand towels. "This is gonna suck. Sorry. Gotta get that fever down though."

Sam watched him pile ice into the towels and couldn't help the flinch when Dean placed the first one beside his neck. "Shit."

"Yeah I know." Dean grimaced and put another on the other side of his neck. He wrapped up two more bundles of ice and pulled the blanket down, leaving them under Sam's arms and pulled it back up as Sam shook in earnest. "Ten minutes, ok?"

Sam nodded, closing his eyes and tried to will away the heat he could feel cooking him from the inside out. "Hey, Dean?" He said between chattering teeth and felt the bed depress at his side as Dean sat down. "M'sorry."

"Huh? What the hell for?" Dean asked, confused. He couldn't think of a damn thing Sam had to be sorry for lately.

"I know…why you don't stay with th-them." Sam opened his eyes and saw the anger beginning to darken Dean's eyes.

"Sam this is not the time to bring this up again." Dean said softly, trying to push down the irritation.

Sam shook his head. "I get it. I do." He swallowed past the lump in his throat. "Mom and…and Jess. You're af-fraid our life'll get them killed." He had to close his eyes as he shook again. "Gotta be a way, Dean." Sam said. He knew it was the fever making his voice waiver, or he hoped it was but he didn't really care. "S'gotta be a w-way for us to be happy. Someday. Right?"

Dean sighed. "Aw, Sammy." He put his hand on Sam's neck, offering him the only comfort he could because the truth was, he didn't think there was a way. They were Hunters and that meant something nasty would always be lurking around the corner, waiting to break them the moment they weren't looking. He looked down at Sam, shaking and fevered; at the blue-green eyes that suddenly looked up at him so hopefully and for a second all he could see was the nine year old kid begging his big brother to make everything alright and the monsters go away. "Yeah, Sam. There's a way. We just haven't found it yet, ok?" He squeezed Sam's neck when he closed his eyes again on a sigh, the lines of tension easing a little from his face.

"We'll figure it out." Sam said softly, beginning to drift back to sleep despite the ice and the shivers. "We always do."

"Yeah we do." Dean nodded and when Sam was truly asleep he didn't leave. He stayed beside him, hand squeezing the side of his neck to let him know he wasn't alone and he smiled. Sometimes, just sometimes, Sam could almost make him believe they weren't gonna end bloody and alone somewhere down the road.

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_The End._


	10. For Sammynanci

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For sammynanci: I would like the season one,and that the brothers are in a hunt of something (monster, spirit, what you want) that he hides in a great cavern (or a place where it finds it hard to them to find the exit) attacks them, Sam is hurt and for one of these wounds it loses the memory Awake when he believes that Dean was the one who enclosed it in this place  
> (where they remained caught after the assault) It Is Afraid of his brother so Dean will have to come to his heart if it cannot come to his memory to calm it, take care of it and be able to go out the two to except of the place. It can be that Sam also suffers nightmares with Jess or the hunts and this way he  
> remembers little by little his life and as his brother always it protected it.I would delight that Dean has to be softer and affectionate because Sam does not remember anything and knows that if it does not leave it to attend his wounds and to take care of it it can manage to lose his little brother forever.

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"I ever mention how much I don't like caves?" Dean asked his brother with a groan as they bent to fit through a small tunnel and heard a light chuckle from ahead of him.

"Dude, you're only worried about the rats." Sam smothered a laugh.

"Don't even joke." Dean gave his brother a shove in the back. "Could always distract myself with clowns, eh Sammy?"

"Eat me." Sam shot back, not amused.

Dean snorted and straightened with a happy sigh when they emerged from the tunnel into a larger cave. "How come evil lizard things can't ever live in comfy high rise apartments?"

"No renters insurance for mutant Crocs." Sam dead-panned and shined his light around the cave while Dean chuckled.

"You're sure about how to gank this thing, right?" Dean stepped ahead of Sam, leaning over a narrow gap in the floor.

"Burn the heart. Straight-forward enough." Sam came up beside him and then jumped easily over the gap. "Of course, we have to get it out first." He smirked and went toward an opening in the cave wall opposite as Dean jumped across with a grunt.

"Why do I suddenly feel like Steve Irwin?" Dean grumbled and ducked under the low hanging stone, following Sam. They emerged in yet another small cave, this one with a meandering, wide stream of water running across the bottom and into the wall to vanish. Dean could faintly hear the soft roar of some waterfall coming from the opening and turned his light the other way in time to see a wet body flash in the light. "Sam!"

Sam turned and grunted as a large, scaled body slammed into him and threw him off his feet into the cold water. He twisted beneath the weight and tried to pull himself out from under it as the water closed over his head.

Dean saw the creature's jaws open with Sam's neck dangerously close beneath and sprinted the distance, crashing into the thing's side. They rolled away from Sam and Dean rolled back to his feet as the thing hissed. "Sam?"

"Yeah." Sam pulled himself to his knees, coughing water and drew his gun. "Damn thing's fast." He watched Dean back up to him, gun drawn. "Got any ideas?"

Dean fired a shot at the massive Croc and groaned as it glanced off the scaled back to hit the stone wall beyond. "How about not get eaten?"

The Croc chose that moment to rush them. Nearly thirty feet long, scales and muscles glistening in the light of their torches it turned at the last second, surprising both men and swiped its tail around in an arc. Sam and Dean were thrown to splash into the water. Dean heard a solid thud and rolled to his knees to see Sam's head sliding from the edge of the rock and his body being sluiced away by the current.

"Sam!" Dean shouted. He lunged to grab Sam's foot as it floated out of reach and then had to duck another swipe of the crocodile's tail. "Dammit!" He raised his gun and fired at the creature's head, aiming for one of the glowing red eyes peering at him and watched in satisfaction as it burst. The Croc screamed in pain and backed away from him. Dean took the opportunity and climbed up on the bank, running along the stream after Sam. "No, no, no!" Dean dove after him as he reached the opening in the cave wall. He fell into the water, wrapped around his little brother's long legs as they were both pulled into the darkness.

The stream deepened almost immediately and Dean pulled and tugged, finally getting Sam's head and shoulders in his arms as he kicked to keep them both afloat. "Sam!" The current picked up speed and the roaring of falling water grew in the confined space of the tunnel. Dean's feet no longer touched the bottom. "Sammy, now'd be a good time to wake the hell up!" He tightened his hold on his brother as they hit the waterfall and his hopes that it wouldn't be too tall were dashed as they were swept over and his flashlight briefly dwindled into blackness below them. "Oh crap."

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Dean thrashed to the surface and burst into the open air with a long gasp, sucking in much needed air. "Sam!" He yelled and waved his flashlight around wildly. He'd lost his grip on Sam as they'd hit the water and now couldn't see him. "No!" Dean dove beneath the dark surface and swam in ever widening circles. He nearly gasped in a mouthful of water when his arm bumped against something soft. He reflexively gripped at the fabric, knowing it was his brother and drove them to the surface.

He'd seen an edge to the underground lake they floated in before and swam furiously for the shore, pulling Sam's boneless body with him. He dragged him up from the water and rolled him onto his back. "Sam?" Dean centered his hands on Sam's lower chest and pressed hard several times. "Oh thank god." He gasped when his brother started coughing gales of water and he rolled him onto his side so he wouldn't choke. "Sammy?" Dean laid him back, sliding a hand beneath his brother's head and frowned when he felt the open gash beneath the shaggy hair and the warm blood flowing over his fingers.

Sam groaned softly, still coughing and slowly got his eyes open. His vision was fuzzy, spinning as much as the ground beneath him was. He was cold, his legs hurt with a burning pain below his knees and the back of his head was a torture as the person leaning over him pressed into him. "No!" Sam shouted and shoved at him.

"Sam? What the hell?" Dean fell back on his butt as his little brother pushed violently at him, his eyes wide and panicked. "Sammy, calm down dude." Dean got back to his knees and grabbed the arms flailing at him. "Sam!"

"Lemme go!" Sam shouted and then had to curl up, cradling his head as the sound of his own voice split through it in a blinding pain.

"Sam." Dean grabbed his shoulders to steady him. "Just take it easy. Damn Croc tried to crack your head open."

"C…Croc?" Sam finally managed as the pounding in his skull lessened slightly. He cracked one eye open and quickly closed it again against the spinning. "Who…who are you?"

Dean jerked as if struck, staring down at his brother. "Ok, if this is a joke it aint funny. Come on, Sam."

Sam jerked in his grasp. "Le'go."

"Knock it off, Sam." Dean glared and gave him a gentle shake.

"Who…the hell…is Sam?"

Dean jerked back again and stared down as his brother rolled away from him. "Okay, you're starting to freak me out here." He watched as Sam used the wall to pull himself shakily to his knees, cradling his head. "Sam…" He reached for him but his brother shied away.

"What'd you do to me?" Sam asked, words slurring. He tried to back away from the man reaching for him but couldn't get off his knees.

Dean swallowed hard as realization sank in; Sam's head wound was more serious than he thought. He scrubbed a hand over his face and bent to pick up his flashlight before moving closer. "Sam? That's your name, alright? Feel the back of your head."

"Wha?" Sam moved his shaking hand and gasped as he felt blood and an open wound on the back of his head. "You…hit me?"

"What? No! You fell, Sam. Cracked your grapefruit on the rock before we got washed over the falls." Dean pointed behind him and saw Sam's eyes widen. "Sammy, you don't remember me? Seriously?" He grinned as his little brother looked at him and sighed when he shook his head. "Great. Dean, okay? My name's Dean and I'm your awesome big brother so how about you calm down and let me get a better look at that head?"

Sam watched him warily and backed away another step when he got closer. "Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy." Dean nodded and tried a smile.

"My…brother." Sam said and dropped his head as pain lanced behind his eyes again. "Ah…god."

Dean caught him as his legs crumpled. "Whoa. Okay, sit down." He lowered Sam gently to the ground and tilted his head onto his shoulder so he could see the wound. "Stay still." Sam fought weakly and Dean tightened his grip. "Man, settle okay? I'm not gonna hurt you."

Sam flinched as the man…Dean…felt along the wound on his head. Sam tried to breathe deeply, to relax. Surely if he was the one who'd hurt him he wouldn't be trying so hard to help him. "Why…can't I 'member m'name?"

Dean pressed the fabric he'd torn from his shirt against Sam's head again, trying to be gentle. "Concussion, Sam. Your eggs are well and truly scrambled." He tried not to consider how long it would take for Sam's memory to return or worse, if the concussion could be slowly killing him while he watched. "Sam?" He felt his brother's weight settle more heavily into him. "No, no, no, Sammy. Stay awake. Hey." Dean gave him a shake and got a short moan. "Stay awake."

Sam groaned and as much as he wanted to sit up on his own, the ever spinning ground beneath him was making his stomach turn dangerously. "Uh…Dean." He said softly. "I gotta…I'm gonna…"

"Crap." Dean was an expert at translating Sammy-speak and concussion or not, he knew what was coming. He turned Sam deftly, supporting his head and got him clear of his lap just in time as Sam began to heave. He rubbed circles on his brother's back, trying to offer him some small comfort as he wretched violently. Finally the heaving trailed off to coughing and Sam groaned, collapsing into him. Dean pushed him back a little to get a look at his pale, sweat-damp face. "We gotta get you out of here. Come on."

"Unh…no." Sam argued weakly as he was pulled up.

"Can't stay here. Sooner or later that Croc's gonna come looking for us." Dean pulled his arm over his shoulders and shined his light around the cave; relieved to see the dark maw of a tunnel nearby. "Just hang on to me." Dean got them moving. It was slow going with Sam leaning heavily on him and sometimes shooting him a wary glance.

"What were we…doing down here?" Sam asked suddenly in the silence as they shuffled along.

"We were…" Dean broke off at the sound of a loud splash in the cavern behind them. "Crap." He pulled Sam down the tunnel faster.

"What?" Sam was fighting the need to puke again, the disorientation of his head spinning and the fear of not being able to remember…anything.

"Just keep moving." Dean ordered and didn't let him stop even as Sam's legs began to drag. He heard the soft sound of claws scraping stone and hoped the tunnel would prove too narrow for the massive creature. He hoped the upturn of the tunnel they followed meant it would eventually lead them out. "Sam. Come on, man." Sam was becoming heavier, head dropped forward between his shoulders and Dean gave him a shake. "No sleeping, tiger. Sam! Dammit." He slowed and lowered Sam so he was sitting against the wall. "Wake up." He slapped his brother's cheeks lightly and trapped his arms when he jerked awake with a gasp.

"Shit." Sam groaned and let his head drop back, grateful when he felt Dean's hand between his skull and the stone at his back.

"You ok?" Dean asked and Sam gave a nod. "Remember me yet?" He asked more hopefully and smiled but Sam only shook his head slowly.

"I was dreaming of…" Sam trailed off and looked up, expression confused. "Um, Lucky Charms."

Dean chuckled and squeezed the back of his neck. "It was your favorite cereal when you were a kid." Dean took his shoulders and got him standing again. "Always had to hide it from you if I wanted a bowl. You were such a pain." He pulled Sam's arm over his shoulders again. "Still are."

Sam shuffled along beside him and mulled over the man beside him. He said his name over and over in his mind, hoping for a spark of recognition but there was only darkness and pain when he tried to make himself remember.

"Easy, Sam." Dean heard his breathing pick up, panting heavy breaths with his eyes shut tight. "Take it easy."

"Wanna r'member." Sam said softly and felt Dean's grip around his shoulders tighten.

"You will." Dean said surely. The tunnel began to widen ahead of them and he stopped. "Okay. You're gonna sit here for a minute while I check out the cave." He set him against the wall and let him slip down so he was sitting. "Don't go anywhere."

Sam watched him go and rested his head carefully against the cold stone, letting his eyes slide closed against the pounding that wouldn't stop. He knew he should stay awake; that sleeping was dangerous though he wasn't sure how he knew that. He couldn't stop himself though and tumbled into another disjointed dream. This time he saw a montage of motel rooms slide behind his eyes. He felt lost but never alone; always a face was waiting beside him and after a while he realized it was the man's; Dean's face he was seeing but much younger. The motel rooms gave way to a car; it was black and sleek and as he looked at it, a word breathed through his mind; home.

"Sam!" Dean shook him and Sam startled awake, staring up at him. "What?" The strange look Sam was giving him was unnerving.

"There's a car." Sam said and frowned, trying to bring it into focus in his mind. "It's our home, isn't it?"

"Dude." Dean said and smiled softly. He pushed Sam's shaggy hair out of his eyes, caught in a rare moment of weakness. "Yeah she is."

"Why do we live in a car?" Sam asked and Dean looked away.

"I uh…I think I'll just let you remember that." Dean pulled him back up and desperately didn't want to explain Hunting and the losses that had led them to where they were. "Think the cave up there is the things hideout or something."

"Nest. Crocodiles have nests." Sam said and looked up in surprise when Dean chuckled.

"You can't remember me or you or anything else but you can remember useless trivia about hungry lizards?" Dean shook his head smiling. "That geek brain of yours just can't help itself."

"They're ambush predators." Sam said as they entered the cave and Dean's light illuminated a mound of leaves and mud near an outlet of water, several tunnels led off the other side of the cave. "Territorial. It'll be nearby. I'm a geek?"

Dean chuckled and eased them across the cave. "Can you hear yourself, college boy?"

Sam smiled and let his head drop again. "God my head hurts."

"How's your vision?" Dean stopped them in front of the three tunnels and tried to decide which to use.

"Fuzzy." Sam said and made himself open his eyes, looking at the dark openings. "Bigger one."

"Huh? Why?" Dean looked down at him.

"Croc needs to get out for food, has to be the one big enough for him." Sam nodded at the tunnel on their far right. "Should lead up…probably."

Dean debated trusting Sam's scrambled brain to choose their route and shrugged. Odds are he was right. He turned them toward the tunnel and kept Sam moving. "No sleeping." He said again and felt Sam jerk and straighten slightly.

"S-sorry." Sam was having definite problems staying awake. The sleep was pulling at him, making his limbs feel leaden.

"Just don't make me carry your sasquatch ass." Dean groaned, hitching Sam higher against his side.

"You always call me that." Sam said softly, voice sounding distant. "Cause your short."

"Hey! I am not short!" Dean gave him a shake. "You're a friggin mutant." Several steps later Dean jerked to a halt in surprise and grabbed Sam's head, turning his face up to him. "Hey! You remember me?"

Sam blinked at him and let his eyes close. "I…uh, no. Just…like flashes."

"Getting closer." Dean grinned but it faded as all Sam's weight landed on him again. "Dammit, not again. Sam!" He knelt, bringing Sam with him and swallowed back the fear that the concussion was going to kill him long before he remembered who he was; who Dean was. "Come on, buddy. You gotta stay awake. Please." He winced at the desperate tone in his own voice. "Sam."

Sam reeled as more memories sifted through his head. Blonde hair drifted across his vision and he followed it, feeling safety. He tumbled into a bed wrapped up in long arms with gentle fingers touching and breathed in her scent as he kissed her; Jess. He felt a bittersweet happiness as he remembered her name and opened his eyes to see her face. He smiled and a flood of happy memories came to him only to fade as she slowly drifted up from him until she lay across the ceiling. "No." Sam whispered, wanting to not see what he knew was coming next. He felt a scream building in his throat as the image of another woman overlaid Jess; both blonde and both holding his heart and he could do nothing but wait.

"Sam?" Dean took his shoulders when he began to shake and pulled him in against his chest when he started to moan and twitch in the grip of some nightmare. "Sammy. Wake up." The moan turned into a cry and Sam jerked up in his arms. "Hey. Hey breathe." Sam trembled against him and tears leaked from his eyes to run down his face. "What is it?"

Sam gasped and choked on a sob. "I remember." He said, breathless and crushed his eyes closed. "Jess. Mom."

"Aw, Sammy." Dean pulled him in and held him while he calmed. "I'm sorry."

"'member you." Sam said with his face pressed into Dean's shoulder and shuddered. "My jerk…big brother."

"Bitch." Dean said sadly and for a brief moment wished that Sam could have just forgotten those particular memories forever. "Come on, we're not outta here yet." He stood, dragging Sam up with him. "You ok?"

Sam nodded and braced his head with his free hand. "Think I have a concussion."

Dean couldn't help it; he laughed. "Okay, Captain Understatement. Let's go." He started them down the tunnel again, or rather up as it was steadily climbing and Dean tried to listen above their breathing and footsteps for any sound the Croc was after them or near.

"We were…we were hunting something." Sam gave his head a gentle shake and moaned. "Shit I can't freakin' thing straight."

"Mutant Crocodile and it's a little pissed." Dean snorted. "Coming back to you?"

Sam shook his head slowly, one hand curved around it as if to hold it together. "Don't remember the…the croc." His head dropped and he tripped, stumbling into Dean.

"No sleeping. We've been over this." Dean said but he was worried. "You're gonna be fine. Just gotta get you out of here."

"Can't…gotta…" Sam stuttered and felt his legs going, unable to stay on his feet as vertigo pulled the floor from under him.

"No, no, no." Dean was pulled down with him and ended with Sam cradled in one arm. He brought the flashlight up and opened Sam's eyes, shining it in them. "Shit." His pupils were reacting, which was good, but not at the same rate, which was bad. "You gotta wake up, Sam." He shook him but got no response and his worry ratcheted up another notch. "Can't believe you're gonna make me carry you." Dean got to his feet, pulling Sam's limp body with him and got him over his shoulders, hoping it wouldn't aggravate the concussion.

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Dean ducked awkwardly beneath a low ceiling in the tunnel. His legs were burning from the uphill climb and carrying Sam who had yet to stir. More worrying was the flickering of his flash light; the batteries were dying and Sam's had been lost who knew where. He picked up his pace, adjusting Sam across his shoulders with a groan.

"Diet, sasquatch." He muttered. "Putting you…on a damn…diet. Holy crap." He emerged from the tunnel into another cave and had to blink against the light streaming in from the far end. "You were right, Sammy." He said with a grin and started across the open stone. A sound of something dragging drew him to his left. Dean spun, raising his gun as his flashlight gave its last and went dark. At the back of the cave, mere feet from where they'd emerged, the giant Crocodile lay waiting. Dean backed slowly toward the exit, trying to get them into the direct sun. The Croc had never attacked in daylight and Sam had theorized it was light sensitive.

He was right again it seemed as the Croc hissed at the light and fled deeper into the caves. "I promise not to tease your research skills for a whole month, kiddo." Dean said on a relieved sigh. He was tempted to go after the thing, stop it from killing any more hikers but concern for his little brother won out over strangers any day of the week. He hitched Sam up and broke into a slow jog, anxious to get out and get help before it was too late.

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Dean sat beside Sam and watched him sleep, anxiety tugging at him. He brushed the shaggy hair off his brother's forehead and let his hand rest in his hair. The hospital was quiet at that early hour. Nurses had attempted to kick him out of the Intensive Care Unit earlier and he'd threatened bodily harm against anyone who tried. He smirked at the disgusted look on the Head Nurse's face. She'd finally relented and left them alone.

"Anytime you wanna wake up, Sammy." Dean said softly. His fingers brushed against the bandage on the back of Sam's head. "You're gonna be pissed. They shaved you a bald spot, dude." Sam had gone into cardiac arrest as they arrived at the Hospital. The Doctors had been forced to drill a small hole in the back of his skull to relieve the pressure on his brain from the bleeding. They said it was a miracle his skull wasn't fractured and another miracle that he'd survived at all.

"I called Dad." Dean told him, wondering if Sam could hear him. "He didn't answer of course." He thought that if their Dad were to walk into the room right then, Dean might hit him for leaving him alone to watch over Sam. He dropped his head to the side of the bed wearily. The Doctors had warned him it could be hours, days or never if Sam woke up. Dean had walked away when they'd started in on brain damage, unwilling to listen and firmly believing that Sam would surprise them all.

"Dean."

"Sam?" Dean jerked his head up as Sam rolled his head under his hand and blinked tired eyes up at him. "Hey, buddy. About time you came back." Dean grinned, couldn't help himself. "How you feeling?"

Sam squeezed his eyes shut and groaned. "Head hurts."

Dean caught the hand that reached for him and gave it a squeeze before setting it back onto the bed. "How's the memory?"

Sam grimaced. "All there I think." He looked up at Dean and managed a smirk. "But how would I know?"

Dean chuckled. "As long as you remember me, we're good. Can't forget your awesome big brother." He quirked his mouth in a crooked smile. "Baldy."

Sam's eyes widened and he shot a hand up to his head, sighing when he felt his hair. "Not funny."

Dean snorted a laugh and took Sam's hand, moving it to the back of his head. "Hate to tell ya, kid."

Sam gasped as he felt the bald patch and bandage on the back of his head. "Crap! Why'd you let them shave me?"

"Aw it's not that bad." Dean settled back into his chair and smiled. "I tried to get them to shave you a Mohawk."

"Jerk." Sam glared up at him and let his hand drop back.

"Whatever, bitch." Dean slapped his arm. "Soon as your head's back in one piece we'll go finish off Wally."

"Wally was a Gator, idiot." Sam rolled his eyes and regretted it as pain lanced through his head.

Dean put his hand back on Sam's head, offering him some comfort from the pain and smiled. "Go back to sleep, Sam. Brutus can wait."

"Also a Gator." Sam said with a soft laugh but didn't open his eyes. "But you kinda look like Madame Medusa in the morning."

"Don't think I won't kick your ass just 'cause your head's broke." Dean warned him with a laugh and sighed in relief when Sam's breathing evened out into sleep.

Dean was so focused on watching Sam, he never saw the dark head pull out of the door or the soft smile on their father's face as he quickly left; assured his boys were safe for one more day.

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_The End._


	11. For Shannanigans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For Shannanigans: A one-shot of my very own? Well... I guess we'll go with my  
> unfortunate addiction to drunk/drugged/concussed Sammy and ask for - Sam's  
> first time getting drunk.

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"Come on, Sammy." Dean tugged his sixteen year old brother's sleeve and rolled his eyes at the groan.

"Dean, I've got homework to do." Sam argued, waving his book in the air. Dean took it and tossed it on the bed.

"Tough. We need money 'til Dad gets back so I gotta hustle some pool." Dean pulled him up off the ratty motel bed. "That means you might have to drive me home." He said with a grin. "You wouldn't want me getting behind the wheel halfcocked, right?" He knew it was the one argument that would get Sam out the door and he was right.

"Not fair." Sam groaned but let Dean shove him toward the door and took the jacket he tossed at him.

"Big brother rule." Dean laughed as he closed the room door behind them. "Big brothers are never fair."

"Such a jerk." Sam let himself into the passenger side of the Impala and did his best not to smirk as Dean called him a bitch and fired up the engine.

The town boasted several bars but only one with pool tables. It was a biker roadhouse and Dean parked and strolled in with total confidence. "Get comfy." He told his brother and gave him a pat on the shoulder at the bar as he headed back to the tables. He sized up the players at the three tables in minutes and allowed himself a satisfied smirk as he settled on his marks.

Sam watched Dean strut back to the tables and sighed. He slid onto a bar stool and lamented that his evening of studying had been traded for an evening of loud music and flat coke.

"What can I getcha?" The bartender came over, brows raised and smiled. "Beer or the hard stuff?"

Sam stared at him for a moment in surprise. He was sixteen and usually, bartenders picked up on his young age. It dawned on him then that he had sprouted in the last year and stood on a level with his big brother. He smiled then. "Whiskey please." He barely restrained a laugh when the bartender didn't even bat an eye; just poured him his drink and left him too it. Sam leaned up in his seat to look for his brother; seeing him already bent over the pool table he turned back and grabbed the glass. He'd wondered recently why his brother and Dad and even Uncle Bobby loved the stuff and finally he was going to get his chance. Sam took a cautious sip of the liquor and swallowed. He barely held back the cough that made his eyes water. A chuckle made him look up to find the Bartender standing in front of him again.

"Not your usual drink?" He asked.

Sam panicked for just a moment and then smiled. "Uh, usually just drink beer." He shrugged. "Thought I'd try something different."

The bartender laughed. "Whiskey works better if you just knock it back."

Sam nodded, trying his best to look mature and smiled. "Thanks." He picked the glass back up and tipped the contents back in one go. He blew out a loud breath as the burn crept back up his throat.

"More?" The bartender asked with a smirk. "Or are you back to beer?"

Sam shook his head and put the glass back. "Naw it's good." He said on a wheeze and laughed at himself. The bartender nodded and refilled his glass, leaving the bottle to sit beside it as three men in leather jackets at the other end of the bar yelled for him.

"Knock yourself out." He told Sam and left him there.

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Dean set his pool cue aside with a smile of triumph and swept the wad of bills off the side of the table. "Thanks for the game boys." He grinned and gave a salute to the two bikers he'd cleaned out. For a moment they looked angry and then they shook their heads and smiled, shaking his hand before he left. Dean liked the rare occurrence of someone appreciating how well they'd been played and taking it gracefully. He was up almost two hundred dollars in only two hours and headed back to collect his little brother with a satisfied grin. He'd only had a few beers while playing; the bikers had proved a challenge but he figured he'd let Sam drive home anyway so he wouldn't feel like Dean dragged him out for no reason.

"Hey, Sammy!" Dean called as he neared the bar and then stopped dead in his tracks. His little brother was practically lying on the bar and turned around to him with a cock-eyed grin, waving an arm.

"Dean!" Sam yelled and then started to giggle.

"Oh hell no." Dean breathed but it was happening; his baby brother, all of sixteen, was falling down drunk. He stalked over to him and stopped Sam from falling off his stool. "What the hell, Sam? You're drunk!"

Sam giggled again. "Naw, I just…I'm jusht haffing a…a drink."

Dean reached around him and picked up the glass, sniffing low end whiskey and groaned. "Dude, how did you even get served?"

Sam waved a floppy arm at the bartender down the other end of the bar. He leaned in to Dean, attempting to whisper but it was loud anyway. "He doesn't know!" Sam laughed and slapped a hand into Dean's chest. "He shinks…thinks I'm old." He looked up at Dean with a goofy grin. "Like you!"

"Gah! Dude, your breath is rank. Hey!" Dean yelled down the bar and the bartender came over with a smile. "What the hell's wrong with you?"

"Huh?" The man's smile faltered as he looked between the two men. "Look I know he's a little bombed but what's the big deal?"

"He's sixteen you idiot and you let him pickle himself?" Dean shouted and pulled his little brother off the stool. "Come on, Sam."

"Oh shit." The bartender paled. "Uh…look man, I swear I thought he was old enough! I mean, geez he's like seven feet tall!"

Dean ignored him and turned away, pulling Sam with him. "Dad is gonna kill me." Dean groaned and had to wrap an arm around Sam's waist to keep him on his watery legs. "How much did you drink?"

"I dunno." Sam snorted. "A bottle….bottle of somethin'."

"What were you thinking?" Dean yelled in his ear as they got outside. Any hopes he had of the cold night air sobering Sam up even a little vanished when his brother started giggling like an idiot again.

"Dude…ish cool." Sam tried to look up at the night sky and ended up tipping over backwards, only Dean's supporting arms keeping him from crashing to the ground. "Whoa. Stars are…stars are cool."

"Shit, Sammy." Dean shook his head and again considered how dead Dad was going to make him if he found out. "Good thing Dad's gone for two more days. We are never…never telling him about this. Get in the car." Dean let Sam stumble against the side of the Impala and opened the passenger door. "You puke in my baby I'm leaving you in a ditch."

Sam snickered, fraying his big brother's nerves even further and tumbled into the seat.

By the time Dean got around to the driver side, Sam had the radio blasting, the windshield wipers going and the hazard lights blinking. He got in and slapped Sam's hands away from the console. "Knock it off!" He started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot to Sam's highly amused laughter. "A bottle, Sam? A whole damn bottle of whiskey?" Dean rubbed a hand over his face while his brother sang off tune along with the radio. He remembered the first time _he_ got drunk. He hadn't meant to and Dad had made him hurt the next day but he hadn't been anywhere near as wasted as Sam. "You realize you're gonna wanna die before morning right?"

"Huh?" Sam snorted a laugh and grinned happily as he let his head roll back to the seat. "Nu-uh no way man. I feel awsh…awshome."

Dean pulled into the motel parking lot and up to their room door. Sam hadn't stopped singing the whole way and he rolled his eyes as he got out. He rounded the car, intending to get Sam out and wasn't fast enough. Sam had let himself out and was even now weaving past the door with a laugh. Dean could only watch as his foot caught the low curb and he sprawled face down on the sidewalk.

"Son of a bitch." Dean rushed to his side and turned him over. Sam laughed drunkenly up at him, oblivious to the blood pouring from his nose.

"Ow." Sam laughed.

"Dammit, Sam." Dean took his arms and pulled him upright. He reached a leg back to kick the car door shut and dragged Sam to the room and inside. He put him on the far bed. "Sit the hell down and stay there you idiot." He left Sam chortling to himself and grabbed a damp towel in the bathroom. He went back and had to pull Sam up from where he'd sprawled on the bed. "Head back." Dean pressed the towel into his bleeding nose and batted Sam's hands away when he tried to grab it. "Knock it off."

"Mmf. Hurtsh!" Sam said, voice muffled by the fabric.

"Good." Dean supported Sam's head between his hands and made him sit still until he was satisfied. Familiar as he was with the stages of drunkenness, even at just twenty-one, he knew when Sam's intoxication plateaued and he started to crash. He felt his brother's head get heavy in his hands, saw his eyes droop shut and smirked. The hangover wouldn't be far behind.

"Don't fall asleep yet." Dean told him and peeled the cloth away. His nose had stopped bleeding but his shirt was covered. Dean forced Sam's boneless arms out of his jacket and then yanked his shirts over his head.

"Quit it, D…Dean." Sam chuckled as Dean gave him a soft shove until he fell over, head landing on the pillow.

"Can't believe you tied one on on my watch." Dean groaned as he yanked Sam's shoes off and pulled the blanket up over him. "Stop giggling, Gidget and go to sleep already." The humor of the whole thing was starting to sink in. Sam had gotten himself well and truly trashed. He watched as Sam rolled into his pillow, yelled 'ow' again and rolled back. "Dude, you are ridiculous." Dean tugged the blanket up to his chin as Sam fell asleep and chuckled.

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Dean woke from a light sleep when he heard Sam groan. "Sam?" He looked over and saw Sam struggling out of the blanket looking decidedly green. "Oh boy." He scrambled up and freed his brother, grabbed him and all but dragged him to the bathroom. He got Sam's head over the toilet as the first violent heave struck him.

"Welcome to the not so fun part of being drunk, kiddo." Dean smirked and rested his hand on Sam's back as he threw up repeatedly. He spared a quick glance into the toilet and startled when he saw blood. "Shit! Sam?" He waited for a lull in heaving and pulled Sam's head back to see his nose had started bleeding again.

"Dean." Sam's voice was miserable. "Make it stop?"

"Sorry, tiger. Would if I could." And Dean meant it. Watching Sam suffer, even if it was self-inflicted was not something he would ever enjoy. He sighed as Sam started vomiting again and reached up to grab one of the threadbare hand towels. He folded it and slid it in front of Sam's face and over his nose, trying to avoid the bile spewing forth from his mouth; all the while rubbing circles into Sam's back to try and soothe him. He was so focused on that he didn't hear the motel room door open but he heard it slam shut and looked up in time to see their father run into the bathroom, anxiety plain on his face.

"Dean? What's happened?" John Winchester stared down at his sons. He'd seen a small pool of blood outside the door and coming in to hear Sam throwing up had not helped his panic level. "Is he ok?"

Dean leaned back, fear dropping into his gut like a cold stone when his Dad took Sam from his arms and tilted him back to see his face. "Um…Dad. I can explain."

John got a good look at his youngest son's swollen and bleeding nose, frowning in concern and then the smell hit him. He turned quickly smoldering eyes to his eldest and fixed him with a glare. "Why…does he smell like whiskey?" Dean stared at him open-mouthed. "Why is Sam drunk?"

"Not Dean's fault." Sam said and then dove back for the toilet, gasping for air between the heaves. "S'all me."

"Dean." John ordered and watched Dean deflate before his eyes.

"I uh…I took him out with me." Dean dropped his eyes to the floor, unable to look his Dad in the eyes. "I left him at the bar and the uh…bartender, he thought Sam was old enough."

"There's a reason you didn't tell him otherwise?" John demanded and Dean paled further.

"I was hustling pool." Dean muttered and rolled his eyes when his Dad continued to stare at him. "I was hustling pool." He said again louder. Dean took his life in his hands, moving closer to his Dad so he could reach Sam's face again with the cloth. "I found him when I came back for him. Drank a whole bottle. God, Dad I'm sorry."

"Not yet, you're not." John said ominously and turned back as Sam's retching finally went silent. "Sammy? All done?" Sam nodded and leaned his head back, Dean's hand attached to his nose with the towel. "I've got this, Dean." John moved his hand aside and took a look for himself. "Let's get you cleaned up." He helped Sam stand and propped him up against the sink to clean off his face and let him rinse his mouth out.

Dean stood back feeling useless while his Dad took over and ever so often would send a fulminating look at him. He paced beside them as Sam let their Dad lead him back to bed. Dean pulled the blanket out of the way and tucked it over Sam once he was lying down. He sat on the foot of the bed and waited for the inevitable as his Dad straightened and looked down at him.

"I'm disappointed in you, Dean." John said quietly and it was probably the worst condemnation he could give. Dean's shoulders shook but he steeled himself and looked up.

"It's my fault. I should have been paying attention." Dean glanced at Sam's sleeping form. "I'm sorry, Dad."

John watched his son's miserable face and finally rolled his eyes to the ceiling in a bid for patience before he sat on the edge of the other bed. "He's the one you'll be apologizing to when he wakes up tomorrow." He nodded at Sam and then fixed a stern look on Dean. "Would you have even told me about this if I'd stayed the extra two days?" Dean's silence told him all he needed and finally he gave a soft laugh. "I suppose I should have expected this." He glared at Dean. "You were fifteen."

"Aw, Dad." Dean dropped his head, scrubbing an embarrassed hand through his hair.

John chuckled. "All the things I thought I was going to walk into when I saw the blood outside…" He rubbed a relieved hand over his face. "This was NOT on the list. Go to bed, Dean."

"You're not gonna…you know, kill me?" Dean asked; a flash of hope on his face and his father gave him his best dangerous smile. John watched with satisfaction as Dean's face paled once more.

"Oh I'll find a way to take this out of your hide." He stood and cuffed a hand upside Dean's head. "And his, when he can stand without throwing up again. Sleep."

"Great." Dean grumbled as he grabbed his sleep pants and headed for the bathroom. "How'm I supposed to sleep with that hanging over my head?"

John smothered his laugh as the bathroom door shut and sighed, looking over at Sam and then up at the ceiling. "Doing my best, Mary." He said softly and then did laugh as a loud burp came from Sam as he slept.

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_The End._


	12. For judyann

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For judyann: I totally love pre season Sam younger teens Dean older teen maybe something with the fighting with dad. Totally either hurt Sam and totally Sappy and brotherly bonding. I love that! And however you want to do it is fine by me.

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Dean leaned against the cracked, Formica counter in the kitchen of the house they were renting and wondered how much longer he should wait to step in between his Dad and brother. They were having a shouting match in the little kitchen. Sam at thirteen and barely topping five foot three was determined to make Dad let him come on the latest hunt; insisting that he was ready.

"Dammit, Sammy you are not ready!" John shouted and slapped a hand on the table in aggravation. "In another year, maybe if you stand taller than my damn shotgun!"

"That's not fair, Dad!" Sam yelled, shaking with anger at being dismissed. "I'm just as good a shot as Dean!" Dean snorted but said nothing when Sam shot him an angry glare. "I know how to gank a stupid ghost! I can help!" He was determined to go on this hunt and prove that he was ready; having to watch as his Dad and Dean went off and faced death was taking its toll on him. He couldn't stand the thought anymore that they might leave one night and never come back. Ever since he'd found out the monsters were real the fear had consumed him, more when his brother left as well.

"No, Sam. I forbid it." John said angrily and watched his youngest son's face turn red.

"But you were training Dean when he was four!" Sam stomped a foot in temper, unmindful of how young it made him look. "He was hunting with you when he was like ten!"

"That was different, Sammy." John said and now just sounded tired.

"That's crap!" Sam shouted and then stopped as his father's face darkened. Cussing at his Dad was crossing a line and inwardly he winced but didn't back down.

Dean stepped forward and took Sam's shoulders to try and stop the fight before it got completely out of hand. "Sammy." Dean said and he knew he would hate the look he was about to see on his brother's face. "I agree with Dad. You're not ready yet." He cringed inwardly as his little brother's face collapsed in disbelief. "I'm sorry, kiddo." Dean tried to pull him into a hug but Sam jerked away and ran upstairs. They could both hear Sam's footsteps stomping up to the second floor and the crash of the bedroom door as it was slammed.

John heaved a deep sigh and aimed a kick at the cabinet under the sink, taking some small satisfaction when it popped off its hinges. "I'm suddenly wishing he could have stayed twelve forever." He muttered as Sam's introduction to being a teenager had been the moment his rebellious streak had kicked in with a vengeance.

"Dad, he worries about us." Dean said softly around the lump in his throat. "It kills him being left behind, never knowing if we're gonna make it back or…or not."

"I know, son." John nodded. He did understand but it couldn't be helped. He carried no small measure of guilt for the way he'd raised Dean. His eldest had learned to Hunt practically along-side him, falling victim to his need for revenge and even more primal need to make sure he could protect himself and his baby brother. He looked at Dean, his hunched shoulders and the way his head turned toward the stairs as though he could hear Sam and, knowing him, he probably could. John pulled his training around him and steeled himself. They had a hunt and lives to save and salving Sam's wounded pride would have to wait until tomorrow. "Dean."

"Dad, I'm gonna go check on him." Dean told him and walked away.

"Be back down here in ten. We're leaving. That ghost isn't going to stop itself." John delivered the order sternly and went to gather up the weapons and supplies they'd need. Sam had actually helped with some of the research and even found the likely place the man's body was buried in the house. John, though, had kept some of the research from him; still unwilling to completely have Sam exposed to the monsters, especially when this one had been all too human in life. Jasper DeFoe had been a killer of children; kidnapping and hanging them in his house and that was just one of the many reasons he didn't want Sam along. His youngest was far too near the man's victim of choice when he'd been alive. He'd managed to hide all that from Sam who felt everything so strongly. He shook his head and wondered how he was ever going to shape him into a true Hunter.

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Dean eased the bedroom door open and went quickly to sit beside his little brother where he curled on the bed. "Sammy, I'm sorry." Dean dropped a hand onto his back and winced when Sam's shoulders tensed beneath his hand. "Dad's right this time. You just have to give it more time. You will be ready soon, just…not yet." He sighed when he got no response. "Don't wait up, ok?" He squeezed Sam's shoulder and stood.

Sam listened to his big brother as he left the room, quietly closing the door and fumed. He was ready. Why couldn't they understand? They needed him and he needed to be with them. He was tired of being babied when Dad pushed him so hard to train. He needed to calm himself so began doing algebra in his head while he listened to his Dad and brother moving around downstairs and shortly heard the door open and shut and then the familiar sound of the Impala's engine roaring to life and pulling away into the night.

He smiled to himself and rolled off the bed. If they thought he was just going to let them walk off and leave him this time they were sorely mistaken. Sam dropped to the floor and pulled the bag from under his bed, the one he'd hidden earlier in the day. From it he took a silver knife, tucking it into the back of his belt, an iron rod he'd gotten from Pastor Jim that was short enough to be comfortable for him and a flashlight. He pulled on his jacket and ran downstairs. He peeked out the front door to make sure no one was looking and locked it behind him.

Sam crept across the weed choked lawn to the apartment complex next door and slipped between the cars. He silently thanked his big brother for teaching him how to hotwire cars last month and for letting him drive the Impala a few times in the empty lot down the road. Dean would turn his nose up at the little Volkswagen Sam chose but he figured it would be small enough for him to reach the pedals and see over the wheel. He smirked when he pulled on the handle and found it open and climbed quickly inside. His Dad was always telling him that a Hunter had to be resourceful, determined and confident. Sam planned on showing his Dad just how well he'd learned those lessons and bent under the steering column to get the car started with a satisfied smile.

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"Dad!" Dean shouted and sprinted the length of the hall as his father was thrown through a set of double doors. The ghost turned an evil grin at Dean before flickering from sight. "Dad!" Dean slid into the doorway and saw his father lying on his side at the base of the far wall. He ran to him, sliding to his knees beside him. "Dad? You ok?" John's head twitched but his eyes didn't open.

The ghost had appeared without warning, latching first onto Dean with a frigid hand around his throat. John had dispatched it quickly, tossing a handful of salt into him and caught Dean as he dropped. Dean had gasped and gotten his footing back just as the late Mr. DeFoe reappeared and took hold of his father, throwing him.

"Dad." Dean gave his shoulders a shake and ran a hand over the back of his head, frowning at the lump he found there. "You gotta wake up, Dad." Dean looked warily around the room but the ghost was still absent. He tightened his grip on the iron poker in his right hand and shook his father again, worry clouding his eyes. "Ok, Dad. You don't wake up, I'm lugging your ass out to the car." Dean told him, tapping the side of his face. When all he got was a moan he sighed. "Great." He reached down, tugging up one of his father's arms and then gasped as something wrapped around his throat.

Dean shouted in surprise, the sound cut off as it tightened. His fingers scrabbled at his throat, the iron poker dropping to the floor with a clatter and he felt a thin cord of rope twisting itself tighter. Dean was yanked off his feet and pulled backwards across the floor, kicking as he was dragged through a set of doors into the empty dining room and the doors slammed shut behind him. He tried to get his fingers beneath the rope as his lungs burned and strained for a breath he couldn't get. Spots began to dance in his vision, the room darkening around him; the night rolling in to cover his sight as he felt the rope tug and pull him up. Dean tipped his head back and saw the rope moving on its own above his head to wrap around the base of a decrepit chandelier. He tried to call his Dad, tried to loosen the rope and couldn't fight when his hands and arms went numb and dropped to his sides.

Dean felt arms touching him, reaching above him and tried to lift his head. The rope suddenly gave way and he dropped to the floor in a heap.

"Dean!" Sam's voice brought him around as the rope was unwound from his throat and Dean looked up in shock at him.

"Sammy?" Dean croaked.

"Hang on." Sam tried to shake the image from his mind; his brother being hanged in front of him and shook once, hard with the realization that if he hadn't come…He pushed the thought away and concentrated getting the rope from Dean's throat, glad he'd brought the knife. "I've got you, Dean."

"Sam." Dean grabbed his arm and yanked him around so he could see him. "Get out. You gotta…" Dean coughed. "Get out!"

Sam stared at him and frowned. "No. You need me."

Dean used his brother to pull himself up, fear for Sam's safety giving him the strength to move. "Out. Now."

"Dean, wait!" Sam tried to shrug out of the steely grip on his arm as Dean staggered toward the closed doors to the living room and shoved them open. "Crap! Dad!" Sam startled as he saw their father lying on the floor. "Is he okay?"

"He'll be fine." Dean rubbed his throat and gave Sam a shove toward the hall and the front door. "You have to get out of here, Sammy. You're in danger."

"So are you." Sam said and planted his feet in refusal.

"You don't understand!" Dean was frantic to get him out before the ghost spotted him. The case file images his father had shown him flashed through his mind; young boys beaten and hanged in this very house and he grabbed Sam, pulling him toward the door. "Dad didn't tell you. The ghost likes kids, Sam." He felt Sam jerk in surprise. "Boys. If he sees you…"

"Too late." The voice made both boys jump in surprise.

"Crap." Dean pulled Sam close to him as the ghost appeared. "Go, Sam!" He pushed him at the front door but Sam stopped, pulling a short iron rod from his jacket and ran at the ghost; he swung the rod through DeFoe's torso and dissipated him.

"Get Dad!" Sam told him.

"No!" Dean reached across and took his arm. "You first." He knew their Dad would say the same if he were conscious and dammit why didn't he wake up already? Dean pulled Sam to the door despite his protestations and took hold of the knob but didn't have time to turn it before the ghost returned. DeFoe's spirit yanked Sam from his grip, tossing him to the bottom of the stairs. At the same time, Dean felt a hard shove in the center of his chest and flew backward into the living room to land beside his Dad as the doors slammed shut once more. "SAM!" He screamed.

"D…Dean?" John rolled his head and opened his eyes with difficulty to find Dean lying beside him. "What? …did I hear Sammy?" He was confused and his head was pounding.

"Dad!" Dean all but jumped on him. "Dad, he's got Sam!"

"Wha?" John rolled and shakily pushed himself up, one hand cradling his head. "Sam's not here. Left him at…at home."

"Dad." Dean gave him a shake and waited for his eyes to settle on him. "He followed us. He's here. He saved me and that damn spook has him now! Come on!" He was frantic. He knew how much damage the ghost could wreak in a short time.

John dragged himself up off the floor, scrubbing his hands over his face. He swallowed the fear; there was no time for it, Sam didn't have time for him to be afraid. "Go get your brother. I'll get the bones." He gave Dean a shove. "Now, Dean! Go!" He said, using the words he knew Dean would respond to and saw the look on his son's face; as though he was betraying them but he knew the best way to save his boys was to get rid of the ghost. Dean would understand later.

Dean did as he was told. He ran and kicked through the doors. Fear was stealing his breath as he pounded up the rotting stairs, hearing Sam's shouts from above. He ran faster when the shouts stopped. "Sam!" He ran down the hall, leaping over a table turned on its side and skidded to a stop at the only closed door. "Sammy!" Dean kicked the door, growling when it didn't move. He reared back and put every ounce of panic he was feeling behind his foot and the door swung in so hard it rocked off one of its hinges as it banged into the wall. The ghost had his little brother by the throat, dangling Sam's still too short legs above the floor. Blood trickled from a cut over his eye as he gasped for air against the frigid hands around his throat; his eyes rolled to the side, meeting Dean's before they slipped closed.

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John hacked at the floor of the Dining room with the axe they'd brought, ripping up floor boards one at a time in a frantic race to beat whatever was happening upstairs. He heard Dean's shouts and Sam's and then only Dean. He ripped up a fifth plank of rotting wood and nearly sobbed in relief when he saw the first of the bones revealed in the light from his lamp. He hacked at the boards with renewed strength, not thinking about what he might be losing and cursing that it was taking too long.

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Dean charged at the spirit, raising the iron bar of Sam's he'd picked up from downstairs and dragged it through DeFoe's shimmering form. The ghost vanished with a roar and Dean caught his brother as he dropped.

"Sam? Sammy, wake up." Dean pulled him into his arms, cupping a hand at the side of his face. "Please be okay. Sammy?" He sobbed a breath out and smiled as Sam gasped and his eyes flew open. "That's it, buddy. Hey, you ok?"

"Dean?" Sam's voice was hoarse, squeezed through an abused throat and by the arms holding him tight.

"I've got ya." Dean dropped his forehead into Sam's hair for a moment.

"Dea…chest hurts." Sam said softly, closing his eyes against the ache.

"Shit." Dean leaned him back and put a hand on his chest. "What hurts?"

"Dean!" Sam grabbed his arm, eyes widening in fear.

Dean looked up and crushed Sam back against him as the ghost reappeared, a look of livid rage burning on his face. He bent for the boys and then screamed. The sound filled the house as flames engulfed him and he vanished.

Dean was panting in relief, arms tight around Sam. "Dad's got good timing." He loosened his grip on Sam slightly and tugged on the hem of his shirt. "Lemme see, Sammy." His little brother flinched at the movement and let Dean pull his shirt up to reveal an angry bruise forming over his ribs. Dean hissed in sympathy.

"Back too." Sam managed between clenched teeth and didn't argue when Dean pulled his head in under his chin and held him.

"Scared me to death, kiddo." Dean said softly smiled when Sam's arms wrapped around him. "Thanks." Sam nodded and didn't even look up when he heard their father's heavy footsteps run into the room.

"Dean? Sam?" John dropped beside them and put a hand into Sam's shaggy hair. "He okay?"

"He's fine." Dean said shortly. "Little bruised and that asshat tried to strangle him." He looked up at his Dad with fierce green eyes. "We were wrong you know." His Dad raised both brows at him but Dean didn't relent. "He saved us, Dad. I'd be dead if Sammy hadn't shown up when he did."

John flinched as if struck and a cold weight dropped into his stomach at the truth of his son's words. If his youngest son hadn't completely disregarded him to prove him wrong, tonight would have turned out very differently; tragically. "Sammy." He waited until Sam turned pained, hazel eyes up to him and smiled. "We're gonna have a talk when we get home about this." He ruffled the mop of dark hair and gave it a gentle tug. "Don't you ever scare us like that again." He reached out to take Sam but Dean tightened his grip.

"I got him, Dad." Dean said firmly. Sam was his responsibility; their Dad had made sure of that since he was four.

John nodded, sad and clapped a hand on Dean's shoulder as he stood. His eyes couldn't help but stray to the matching bruises ringing the throats of both his sons and he shivered as he left them.

"Come on, tiger." Dean eased himself up, bringing Sam with him. "You walk?" Sam nodded weakly, screwing his eyes shut; he drew one arm across his chest and held his throat with the other. Dean frowned as Sam hunched against him and shook his head. "Screw it." He scooped Sam up into his arms and knew he was right when Sam didn't argue, just huddled closer to him with his face in his neck.

"Hurts, Dean." Sam mumbled into his neck and breathed in the familiar smells of leather and gun oil and Dean that made him feel safe.

"I know, Sammy." Dean headed for the door. "I'll take care of it soon as we get home." He wondered how much longer he'd be able to do this, carry him, before puberty finally made Sam too old to be taken care of.

"You won't leave me alone again…will you?" Sam asked quietly as Dean headed slowly down the stairs.

"Promise, Sammy. You and me against the world." Dean said clearly and smiled when Sam snorted into his throat. "Shorty."

Sam snickered and squirmed his head around. "Jerk."

"No talking, bitch." Dean gave him a shake and laughed.

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_The End._


	13. For Brielle-W

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For Brielle-W: Hmmm ok I know - and I can't help myself being mean to the boys. I want to see them trapped in a fire (caused by something supernatural) and I want it in the second half of season 6 (what would happen to the wall, since Sam's only memory of hell was fire)

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Fire was always a problem for Sam, hell it was a problem for him too if he was honest. Seeing two women in their lives burn alive on a ceiling would do that to you but this? This was just that one straw too many for Sam. After his time in the Cage, it didn't surprise Dean that he was stuck huddled on the floor with his six foot four little brother wrapped in his arms, back against his chest while he trembled and cried and tried to keep his freak out to manageable proportions. The fear rushing through Dean right then wasn't just about the fire and burning alive, it was more about how many cracks it was going to put in Sam's wall. All that time in hell and he knew damn well fire was a never ending companion downstairs...there was no way Sam wasn't going to have a problem.

"Breathe, Sammy. Come on. Breathe." Dean pulled his back in tighter to his chest. Sam wasn't answering him, his eyes were screwed shut and he flinched every time the fire on the floors above them crackled and spat. "We're gonna be ok but dude you gotta pull it together. Sam." Dean gave him a shake.

"D…Dean." Sam stuttered and shook hard. He felt like Dean's arms were the only things holding him in one piece just then. He could feel something huge tickling at the edges of his mind, something he decided he really did not want to see and it started with the fire.

"Just don't think about it, Sam." Dean held him tighter and looked up at the smoke beginning to seep through the floorboards. The damn Ghoul should never have gotten the drop on them. He cursed himself for the hundredth time for taking his eyes off Sam. He'd only left him for five minutes but it had been long enough; returning to find his brother unconscious, doused in kerosene and the crazed ghoul standing at the door with a lit match and a happy grin. He didn't think he'd ever moved as fast in his life as he had grabbing all six plus feet of Sam and running as the match fell and the Ghoul ran. He'd taken the nearest door and rolled them both down the cellar stairs as the flames ignited behind them. Sam still reeked of the fuel despite the water he'd poured on him from the little sink by the washing machine. "We'll get out of here but you gotta help me, Sammy. Sam?"

Sam gasped as the first hot cinders began to fall from above, drifting lazily down into the cellar and igniting a rush of memories that would have made him scream if he could have gotten a breath into his starved lungs. They came in flashes, assaulting his senses. He felt his skin burn from the inside out. He felt the flesh begin to peel from his bones but the worst part, the part that made him lurch in Dean's grasp and finally sob in a breath for help was the voice; the voice that laughed and laughed through all the remembered screaming in his head.

"Sam!" Dean shook him hard and slapped the side of his face. "Dammit don't you do this again! Sammy!" He wasn't getting through and Sam was seizing again, like the first time and each bone cracking tremor rocked him hard. "Dammit." Dean laid him down gently and ran to the sink, brushing burning embers from his hair. He grabbed the little bucket from the floor beside it and quickly filled it with the coldest water he could manage. If heat was setting him off then maybe the cold would kick him out of it. The bucket full, he left the tap running and turned. Dean poured the water over Sam from head to toe; drenching him then set it in to fill again.

"Sammy?" Dean bent and pulled his head and shoulders up. The tremors were starting to ease and he held him closer. "Come on, Sammy. Come back. Sam!" He shoved sopping hair from Sam's face and out of his eyes and couldn't help the relieved smile that cracked across his face when Sam's eyes fluttered open.

"Dean." Sam gasped and reflexively clamped his hands around his brother's arm, needing the physical anchor.

"You with me, Sam?" Dean leaned over to see into his face better and got a shaky nod. "Good cause this place aint gonna last much longer." He wanted to give Sam all the time he needed to recover but the fire was too far advanced, the roaring of the flames above them was quickly edging toward deafening.

"I'm ok." Sam nodded. "I'm ok. I can do this." He wasn't sure if he was reassuring Dean or himself but it didn't really matter. He groaned as Dean pulled him to his feet and had to hold on to him to stay standing as the floor seemed determined to shift beneath him and his aching body.

"Okay, kiddo." Dean kept hold of his shoulders and steered him toward the back wall. "There's a window up there. We're gonna climb out. You first." Sam started to shake his head and Dean cuffed him lightly. "No way I'm pulling your heavy ass out after me."

Sam smirked and took hold of the window ledge in front of him. He could feel the heat from the ceiling beating down on him and refused to look up, focusing instead on boosting himself through the open space while Dean held it open.

"Move it, Sam." Dean said firmly as the first timbers began to fall into the cellar; crashing in a whirlwind of flaming embers. He watched his brother's feet vanish through the window in a sudden burst of speed. "That's my boy." He stepped back and took a running start, arrowing up and into the window. The fresh air was like a balm on a throat gone sore from breathing in the heated air and he took several grateful gulps as he pulled himself the rest of the way out. "Let's book before the cops get here, Sam." He got to his knees, brushing off his jeans.

"Dean!" Sam's voice came from his left and Dean jerked in shock. The Ghoul had his little brother by the throat and was waving one hand in the air, blood dropping from the fingers. Sam had bitten him to warn his brother.

"Back off, Winchester!" The Ghoul shouted and tilted the hand at Sam's neck so the knife blade glinted in the flickering light of the fire raging only feet away. "I'm going to enjoy eating you." He growled in Sam's ear.

Sam was just done. He held himself rigid in the creature's grasp and decided he'd had enough. He was so close to collapsing in sheer exhaustion, his whole body ached from the seizures he'd no doubt had again and now this thing was using him against his own brother. Maybe it was the new memories of hell dancing around in his brain but he was finished being a puppet.

"Sammy?" Dean said softly, seeing the look that crossed his brother's face and then he was running.

Sam grabbed the hand at his throat and pulled hard, turning into the Ghoul and glared into the face of its last victim. He felt the blade slice cleanly along the side of his throat as he pulled the hand down and forced the blade around. Sam turned the Ghoul's hand and twisted the blade free. He took it as the thing staggered back in surprise and jammed it into the Ghoul's throat.

Dean reached them, taking hold of Sam's shoulder and pulling him back out of the way as the Ghoul gasped around the length of metal lodged in its' neck. "Time to roast, jackass." Dean growled. He bent and wrapped his arms around the creature and used every ounce of strength to throw it into the flaming ruins of the house. He watched the Ghoul tumble into the flames screaming and dusted off his hands before turning to his brother. Sam was on his knees, one hand clamped to the side of his neck. "Shit, Sam what the hell were you thinking?"

Sam smiled weakly. "That I want a…a shower and a bed."

Dean smirked and pulled him up. "Ok, sasquatch. Let's go." He could hear sirens in the distance and got Sam moving. He pried Sam's hand up enough to see the slice. "That's gonna need stitches."

"Awesome." Sam muttered and couldn't stop himself from leaning heavily on Dean. The night was taking its toll.

"I gotcha, buddy." Dean hitched his arm over his shoulders as they staggered away from the house. He wished they hadn't parked a block away as Sam's weight sagged into him. "You alright?"

"Yeah." Sam let his head drop.

"You get another face full of hell?" Dean asked, though he knew the answer already.

"I didn't scratch the wall." Sam said suddenly, lifting his head to see Dean's face. "I swear man, I didn't." There was a level of desperation in his tone and eyes that begged Dean to believe him.

"Hey, hey, Sammy. I know." Dean squeezed his arm around his waist. "It's ok. You're ok." They reached the Impala and Dean had to drag Sam the last few feet and pour him into the passenger seat. He got them away from the house as the first fire truck rounded the corner and smiled, hoping they wouldn't get it out until the Ghoul had been burned to dust. He glanced over and saw Sam's eyes were glued to the rearview mirror and the flames still leaping into the night sky with a sort of haunted expression on his face. Dean flipped on the air conditioner, cranking it to full and then dropped his hand to back of Sam's neck.

"You still with me?" Dean asked and Sam closed his eyes finally, nodding. He angled his head to be more in front of the vent blowing cool air and smiled softly. Dean smirked and put his attention back on the road. Hell may have had its claws in his little brother's head but no one knew him better than Dean and Hell couldn't have him.

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_The End._


	14. For fayesanuttytart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For fayesanuttytart: Dean is angry/ignoring Sammy. Sam feels guilty so decides to hide his injury from Dean. Sam collapses and now Dean has to look after him and apoligize. I think this could work following the season 1 crash but could happen in any season. Good luck.

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Bobby watched Sam ghost through his kitchen, eyes on his shoes for the hundredth time since the accident and sighed. His boys were hurting and Dean, in typical Winchester fashion was only making it harder on himself and his brother. He watched Sam's stiff gait as he turned the corner and wondered just how banged up the kid had gotten. He still couldn't believe Sam had walked away virtually unscathed from the twisted wreck out back.

"Hey, Sam." Bobby called and went after him. He caught him at the bottom of the stairs rubbing his chest. "Hey, you ok?"

"Yeah, Bobby." Sam smiled. "What do you need?"

Bobby studied his face and shrugged. "Look, I got a job few towns over. Thought maybe if you two idjits got outta here for a while it might…"

Sam nodded and smiled again. "I'll ask him." He looked out toward the door and the yard beyond and frowned.

"Naw, I'll tell him." Bobby slapped a hand on Sam's arm. "He aint stupid enough to pull that loud mouthed crap at me, son." He chuckled. "Go on and pack."

"Thanks, Bobby." Sam turned and headed up the stairs. He waited until he heard the front door close to hunch over and cradled an arm across his chest. "Crap." He had to pant in short breaths, his chest refusing to expand all the way just then. "Doctor wasn't kidding…when he said…it'd hurt while it heals." Sam panted and finally felt the pressure begin to ease as he managed deeper breaths. He straightened slowly, rubbing across the bruised ribs on his right side and made his way up the stairs again. He still had trouble wrapping his head around the fact that Dad was gone, that it had only been two days since they'd laid him to rest. A week or two of bed rest just wasn't an option with Dean in the condition he was and while a Hunt was probably the last thing he needed, he hoped it would help loosen Dean up a little.

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Dean argued with the clutch of the beater car Bobby had leant them and cursed as it stuck to the floor before cooperating. He glanced over at Sam and rolled his eyes. Sam was leaning against the passenger door, head turned to the window and Dean was sure he couldn't look any more pathetic if he tried. Bobby had told him to keep an eye on his little brother, even asked him what was wrong with Sam.

" _Same damn thing that's been wrong with him for days, Bobby." Dean had shouted. "Guilty conscience kicking him in the ass."_

" _Don't get smart with me boy." Bobby had growled at him. "You may have gotten mysteriously healed but your brother didn't and I don't care what that boy says. Aint no way you walk away from that…" He pointed at the mangled remains of the Impala. "Without a bump or two more than he's fessin' up to." Bobby had tossed the keys to the loaner car to him and left him there. "You watch him. Time was you used to know how to do that."_

The words had stung but not enough to break through the screaming in his head. Dean looked over at him again and rolled his eyes. He was not gonna have some Jerry Springer moment just to make Sam feel better. It wasn't his fault the last thing he'd done with Dad was pick another fight.

"You sure we got everything we need for this?" Dean asked into the silence and saw Sam flinch out of the corner of his eye.

"Yeah, Dean. It's a poltergeist." Sam shrugged with one shoulder. "Missouri gave me the recipe for the Gris Gris bags. Bobby and I got everything ready."

Dean nodded and focused on the road again. Being at Bobby's had made it easy to avoid Sam. Stuck in a car with him wasn't helping his frayed nerves. He reached over and turned on the radio, ignoring the irritated sigh from the passenger seat.

Sam rolled his eyes and let his head drop to the window. Every time he closed his eyes he saw his father's face as he leaned over him on the floor; so still, so lifeless. He'd seen death too many times to mistake it for anything else but he'd still screamed for help, still prayed while they'd worked to bring him back. He felt tightness creeping across the right side of chest again and was thankful the radio was up so Dean couldn't hear him trying to wheeze in a deep breath. The last thing Dean needed now was Sam whining about a few bruised ribs.

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They pulled up in front of the two story building that was soon to be an antique shop. The previous owners had left after very public complaints of shifting furniture and shadows. The current owner was laid up in the hospital with two broken legs after what he described as a dark shadow that threw him around, tossed him down a flight of stairs and shook the entire house. Bobby had seen the story on the local news, the reporters commenting that the guy was obviously in need of a Psych visit and put two and two together.

"Let's go nuke us a poltergeist, Sammy." Dean said as he parked in front of the garish, red building and climbed out.

It was late and dark and circumstance smiled on them with the streetlights beside the shop out of commission; no prying eyes to see them break in. Sam bent to the lock on the front door, hissing between his teeth against the now ever present pressure in his chest. He easily cracked the lock and pushed the door open, holding on to the frame for a second as Dean brushed past him into the shop.

"Ok. Two each." Sam said and straightened, pulling his bag around. He took out the Gris Gris bags and handed two to Dean.

"You take the cellar and this floor. I'll get the second and the attic." Dean took the bags, shoving them in his pocket and walked off to the stairs without another glance.

"Watch your back, Dean." Sam told him and sighed when he got no response as Dean turned at the top of the stairs out of sight. "Great." He went to the back of the shop, looking for the cellar stairs and alert for any signs the poltergeist was on to them. The house was quiet as he headed down the stairs and made his way to the east wall. He lowered himself carefully and used the hand-axe he'd brought to pry out one of the aging bricks. He had to keep one arm pressed to his chest against the pain there and concentrated on deep, even breaths as he worked but it was becoming harder. Sam kept glancing up, waiting for the spirit to get wise to them and take action. He breathed a relieved sigh when he placed the Gris Gris bag, put the brick back and still nothing had happened.

"One down." Sam stood and then stumbled against the wall as a wave of dizziness swept over him. "Damn. Don't have time for this." He forced himself up and back toward the stairs, hoping the poltergeist wasn't absent because it was after Dean.

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Dean jogged back down to the second floor from the attic. The fact the poltergeist had yet to attack him was making his teeth itch and he found himself checking every corner and keeping his shotgun handy. It had to be waiting for something. He couldn't believe the spirit didn't know what they were doing yet. He heard a door close downstairs.

"Sam?" Dean called and heard his brother's voice faintly. He shrugged since Sam didn't say anything else and headed for the North side of the shop and shouldered his way into a storage room packed with boxes. "Nice. Never notice a hole in the wall in here." He used the axe and punched an opening in the dry wall.

"Where the hell are you?" Dean muttered to the room as he pushed in the Gris Gris bag and rose. It wasn't that he didn't welcome an easy job; it was just that easy rarely happened for them, especially with something as usually violent as a poltergeist. He stepped back out into the hall and pulled the door shut. "Aw what the hell?" He actually wanted the damn spirit to attack him. He wanted a fight. Something to beat the crap out of might help alleviate the pain that he just couldn't shove down. It wasn't smart and he figured his Dad would have smacked him for it and that thought made him close his eyes. "Dammit, Dad."

He heard another thump from downstairs and frowned. "Sam? You done yet?" Dean headed for the stairs and growled. "Sam! Answer me when I talk to you." He stomped down the stairs in frustration, tired of his little brother's moping and sorrowful looks and attempts to make him talk. Now he was being childish and ignoring him and _that_ was gonna stop. He turned into what had once been a living room but was now a show room with shelves and tables cluttered with yard sale junk.

"Sam?" Dean called and heard a groan from the back of the room.

"Dean." Sam gasped around the pain squeezing his chest tight. He'd tried to take the deep, regular breaths the Doctor had told him too but the pain pressed harder each time he moved and he was now curled over his knees, panting too short breaths and trying to stay conscious. "D…Dean. Help."

"Sammy?" Dean rounded a counter and stopped in surprise. He dropped to his knees and took his brother's shoulders. "Sam, what's wrong? Where'd it get you?" He tried to look for signs of injury where the poltergeist had hurt him. "Man I didn't even hear the damn thing."

"Not…poltergeist." Sam gasped.

"Sam, what's going on?" Dean's worry level was ratcheting up listening to Sam gasp for every breath, wheezing in and out like each would be his last. Suddenly the conversation with Bobby earlier in the day came back to him. He slid an arm across Sam's back, trying to pull him upright. "Sam, is this from the…the crash?"

Sam nodded, incapable of getting a word past the tightness in his chest. He reached a hand up and pushed the last Gris Gris bag at Dean. He'd been unable to finish the job, adding to the weight of uselessness that was eating at him.

"Sammy." Dean took the bag and shook his head. "Why didn't you tell me it was this bad? What is it?" Sam just shook his head. "Sit tight." Dean wanted to get him out of there but they had a job to finish. He went to the wall next to Sam's discarded axe and drove his own into the wall. At that moment the spirit finally decided it was time to intervene. Every table and shelf in the room began to rock, vases and other pottery toppling to the floor with loud crashes.

"Perfect timing." Dean growled and went at the wall in earnest. He grunted as a pot crashed into his back but didn't let it him dissuade him. He shoved the Gris Gris bag into the opening and turned to Sam as light exploded through the whole of the house, flaring outward. A moment later all was silent but for Sam's strained breaths.

"Ok, buddy." Dean took his shoulders again and tried to straighten him but Sam was hunched over his chest. "You gotta tell me what's goin' on here, Sammy."

"Ribs…bruised." Sam managed but Dean frowned.

"Dude, bruised ribs aren't enough for this." Dean made Sam look at him. "What else?" Sam just let his head drop and tried to slow the wheezing that was starting to make his head ache. "Alright that's it. You're going to the hospital."

Sam grabbed his arm and turned wide eyes up to him. "N-no. Be…okay." He sucked in another breath. "Just…have to…breathe."

"Dammit, Sammy." Dean watched the pleading look and sighed. "Fine. For now." He dragged Sam off the floor and got them moving to the front door. It was quiet outside and if anyone had noticed the brilliant flash of light, no one had stuck around to look. He got Sam into the car and rested on the roof for a moment. What the hell did I miss? He asked himself and figured he could already imagine what Bobby would have to say. He ran around to the driver's side and pulled away from the shop. Sam gasped and sometimes coughed and made him almost reconsider dumping him in the ER but the look on his brother's face had been eloquent and he understood. Dean wasn't in a hurry to see the inside of a hospital again anytime soon either; the memories still too fresh and how much worse must it be for Sam having found their Dad. He felt guilt then for not once considering what it had to be like for Sam but then, he and Dad had fought like they always did and he couldn't help but wonder if it hurt him as much as it hurt Dean.

Dean debated the six hour drive back to Bobby's but tossed that idea with a glance at Sam's pale face. He turned in to the first motel and only left Sam alone long enough to get a room. One look at the lime and pink paisley on the walls almost made him get back in the car but he groaned and got his brother to the far bed.

"Just sit for a sec okay? Breathe." Dean told him and Sam nodded, trying to slow his breaths. Dean dug out his cell and called Bobby who, no surprise even at that hour, picked up on the first ring.

"How'd the cleansing go?" Bobby greeted and Dean sighed.

"Easy. Uh…Sam's having trouble though." Dean waited the three breaths and then pulled the phone away from his ear as Bobby yelled.

"Dammit, son! I thought I told you to watch him!" Bobby shouted and then took a deep breath to calm his temper. "What happened?"

"Bobby, I dunno. He says it's from the accident. Bruised ribs." Dean went over to Sam and held the phone out so Bobby could hear the wheezing. "You tell me."

"And he's not in a hospital why?" Bobby asked and then rolled his eyes. "Never mind. I know why. Look, just…try to keep him comfortable. I'm gonna call the hospital, talk to the Doc that let him walk out."

"Thanks, Bobby." Dean said to the empty line. Bobby had already hung up. "How you doing, Sammy?" Dean sat on the bed across from him and Sam nodded.

"Kay." Sam tried to straighten up and the pain in his chest lanced through him, doubling him up again. "Shit."

Dean caught him by the shoulders and eased him back onto the bed. "Man lay down. You're making me hurt just looking at you." He wrangled Sam's jacket off him in the process and sat beside him, feeling useless. "Sam, you gotta slow that down and breathe."

"Trying." Sam replied miserably and closed his eyes.

Dean's phone rang and he answered it quickly. "Bobby, give me good news."

"He'll be alright, Dean." Bobby rubbed a hand over his beard. "Sam checked himself out against the Doctor's advice. Kid pretty much threatened to start hurting people if they didn't let him go take care of you and your Dad." He paused when he heard Dean curse. "Wonder where he learned that from?"

Dean rolled his eyes and glanced down at his stubborn brother. "Just tell me what's wrong with him and what to do."

"Doc said he took a hell of a hit from the steering wheel on his right side." Bobby looked down at his hastily scrawled notes. "Pulmonary contusions of the right lung, three bruised ribs, concussion and minor lacerations. Doc says it sounds worse than it is but Sam's gotta breathe Dean." Bobby paused. "Look, if he doesn't get that breathing under control it _will_ be somethin' to worry about."

"So what the hell do I do?" Dean's patience was reaching its' breaking point.

"Doc suggested ice packs on the ribs to numb the pain so he can breathe. When he can take it, get him coughin'. Help loosen up some of the crap in there before it turns into pneumonia." Bobby could practically hear Dean's teeth grinding with worry. "He'll be fine, Dean. Just take care of him."

"Right. Thanks Bobby." Dean hung up and looked down at Sam's straining face. "Sammy." He shook his head. "I'm sorry, Sam. I should have been paying attention. Should have known you didn't just walk away from that mess."

Sam grabbed his arm again. "S'okay." He said between gasps and then groaned around the pain.

"Hold on for a bit. I'm gonna go pick up some stuff." Dean tugged the blanket from the other bed and draped it over him. "I'll be back in five." Sam nodded weakly and watched him go, swallowing the urge to call him back and not leave him alone.

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"Any better?" Dean asked and smiled when Sam nodded even as he shivered. He had ice packs covering the right side of his chest and Dean had given him serious grief when he'd seen the half ring of bruises there; the perfect impression of the Impala's steering wheel. Sam was breathing a little easier, the wheezing calmed and he smiled.

"It's better." Sam said and poked at the ice packs. Dean slapped his hand away and resettled them.

"Leave 'em on for another five minutes." Dean told him with a scowl.

"They're freakin cold." Sam glared and then squinted his eyes closed at a spasm of pain.

"Tough." Dean said with a smile. He wasn't looking forward to the part where he had to get Sam coughing, the pain was no doubt going to double him over again. "I'm really sorry, Sam. This is my fault."

"Bullshit." Sam said and smirked at the surprised look on Dean's face. "Demon's fault…not yours." He took another deep breath, wincing. "Do it again if I…if I had to. Needed me."

Dean looked down at him and saw the kid he'd raised. It hit him suddenly that it could have easily been Sam who'd died either in the car or in that shop if Dean hadn't been there.

"None of it's…your fault, Dean." Sam said, his face serious as he looked up at Dean. "Dad…"

"Don't start, Sammy." Dean cut him off. "Just…leave it alone for now. Okay?" He silently begged his little brother to just this once not push. Sam had no idea what he was talking about and Dean wasn't ready to even begin trying to explain it to him. To his relief, Sam nodded and closed his eyes on the sad expression swimming in them. "Ok, come on. Let's get you up for round two." Dean plucked off the ice packs and couldn't help but stare again at the livid bruises as he helped Sam to sit up. He took a bottle off the bedside table and handed it to him. "Big swig."

"What's this?" Sam asked, looking suspiciously at the label and his eyes widened at the word 'expectorant'. "Dude, I do NOT wanna cough."

"Doctor's orders, kiddo." Dean pushed the bottle toward his face. "It's this or deal with pneumonia later." Sam scowled but took a healthy gulp from the bottle under Dean's watchful eye.

"Hope I puke on your bed." Sam muttered and set the bottle aside while Dean chuckled. He was going to say something else but the first cough worked its way up and he was glad for the remaining numbness from the ice.

"I gotcha, Sammy." Dean took his shoulder, rubbed his other hand over Sam's back as the expectorant started to do its work and suffered along with him. He toed the waste basket over to Sam's feet and groaned as his little brother hocked the first of many wet gobs of mucus into it. "Dude. Eww."

"Your…fault." Sam gasped and leaned back into Dean's arm to catch his breath. "This…sucks." He was glad for Dean's supporting arms as he hunched forward coughing again.

"I know, Sammy." Dean said over the pained hacking. He picked up one of the ice packs and held it over the bruises on Sam's chest; trying to give him some relief from the pain he could see pinching his face again. Sam smiled up at him in thanks for a moment and then bent back over the waste basket. "I'm sorry." He whispered, knowing Sam wouldn't hear him and silently cursed their father and his last words; hoping he would never have to tell Sam what he'd said because there was no way…just no way in hell and his father should have known that.

"Breathe, Sammy." Dean reminded him, rubbing soothing circles and nodded when Sam managed to suck in a few breaths. "You're gonna be fine."

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_The end._


	15. For LadyBeryl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Info: For LadyBeryl: Set during the episode Slash Fiction. Leviathan Dean has much more time with Sam than shown in the episode and tortures him mentally and physically, would like him mocking Sam about Lucifer or Jess. Sam having Lucifer adding to the torture would be awesome. Also, Leviathan Dean threatening Sam with a knife and/or threatening Sam in front of Dean with a knife when he comes to the rescue. And some angst with Dean trying to treat Sam's wounds while Sam is angry with him or Sam not wanting to look at Dean when being treated at the hospital.
> 
> A/N: Some dialogue is taken directly from the episode obviously. All credit for the excerpts goes to Kripke and the rest of the fantabulous SPN crew. I'm just borrowing.

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"Dean!" Sam said, relieved as his brother stepped into the interview room and shut the door but he only smiled.

"I'm not your brother…but I am Dean adjacent." He walked in front of the table and smirked down at the fear flashing across Sam's face. He leaned on the table, smiling. "I just wanna let you know how much I've really grown to hate you and your brother since we been wearing you." He stepped away, throwing his hands up in the air. "I just don't get it. You could be anything! You're strong, you're uninhibited…you're smart enough believe it or not but you're SO caught UP with being GOOD and taking care of each other!" The disgust was evident on his face and Sam pulled harder at the handcuffs, trying vainly to free himself.

"What do you care?" Sam asked, hoping to distract him.

"Because it PISSES me off!" The Leviathan yelled and then smiled. "You're wasting a perfectly good opportunity to subjugate the weak." He went to Sam, stepping behind him and rested his hands on his shoulders. "Here. Let me demonstrate."

Sam couldn't stop the tremble that ran through him and looked up to the small window in the door, hoping to see his brother's face but it didn't come. The Leviathan Dean dug his fingers into Sam's shoulders until he grunted with the pain. He gasped in a breath when it let him go with a chuckle.

"Not a screamer." The Leviathan smirked and drew a knife from his back. "Well then I guess I'll have to get a little more creative to get some noise out of you. Oh." He leaned down where Sam could see him. "Don't worry. Your other self is keeping big brother company." He showed Sam the blade and moved out of his line of sight again.

"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy."

Sam jerked his head up and tried not to look at Lucifer standing across from him, leaning against the mirrored window.

"This isn't gonna end well for you, Sam." Lucifer smirked. "I'm starting to like these things. Really."

Sam heard him laugh and then gasped as the knife cut in to the side of his neck, leaving a trail of fire behind.

"Well that's not very creative now is it, Sammy." Lucifer came to sit on the table. "We could give him some pointers, don't you think?" A small knife appeared in his hand and Sam couldn't focus on the Leviathan pulling his left sleeve back as the little blade glinted in front of his eyes. He shouted in pain as the Leviathan Dean drew his knife up the outside of his arm, the metal biting into his flesh and Sam ground his teeth together not to scream when it dug the point into the bone near his elbow.

"Oh we're getting closer." The Leviathan moved around to sit beside him on the table. Sam jerked his arm away and made him laugh. "You know, I've had all kinds of time to think of ways to screw with you." Without warning, he plunged the blade down into the meat of Sam's thigh and yanked it back out. Sam cried out and hunched forward with the burning pain.

"Oh I like him! I really do!" Lucifer chortled and clapped his hands.

The Leviathan bent over Sam to see his face, his eyes widening. "You're seeing him right now aren't you?" He asked and nodded when Sam's face colored with shock. "Oh yeah, see we get it all." He tapped the bloody blade against his own forehead. "We wear you and we get every thought in those melons of yours." He laughed. "You've got Devil-vision in that freaky head of yours." He looked around the room. "Where is he? I like an audience."

"Sam, seriously. This is the most fun I've had since…well since I had you tied upside down and flayed all the skin off you!" Lucifer thumped his fist on the table and made Sam jump.

"Damn this is fun." Leviathan Dean said gleefully, watching Sam's eyes dart between him and something only he could see.

"Go to hell." Sam glared up at him and jerked hard on the cuffs again.

The Leviathan tsked at him playfully and leaned in, pressing Sam's face into the table with one hand. With the other he dug the point of his knife into the back of Sam's collar bone and laughed when he finally got the scream he'd been looking for.

"Music to my ears, Sammy-boy." He patted him on the shoulder, slapping hard on the new wound.

"Mine too." Lucifer was lying with his face on the table next to Sam's and grinned at him. "I think you're in trouble here, Sam."

"Shut…up." Sam gasped as he was yanked upright again and the Leviathan stood beside him.

"Here's the deal. Dean thinks you're nutballs. He thinks you're off your game." The Leviathan sat beside him again and ground his foot into Sam's bleeding leg for a moment, enjoying the grunts of pain and smiled.

"Are you gonna kill me or is this some sort of play with your food bull?" Sam asked defiantly, panting from the pain.

The Leviathan stood. "All right." He paced around the table again. "All right. You know I guess that's why Dean never told you that he killed Amy." He grinned happily at the look of abject shock on Sam's face. "There it is! The look on your face! That is priceless! That's what I've been waiting for. Now I can eat you!" He went around behind Sam again, laughing. "Cause you see." He leaned over Sam's back again. "I like my meat a little bitter."

The door suddenly burst inward, the real Dean lunging through. "Get the hell away from him!"

The Leviathan bent closer to Sam and slid the blade along his throat. "Oh look. It's your big brother come to take care of you." He said sweetly into Sam's ear and watched his face in the mirror with a knowing smile.

"Head down, Sammy!" Dean shouted and splashed a bottle of some chemical onto his doppelganger as Sam shoved his head down to the table. The Leviathan screamed, backing away from Sam and Dean took its head off with a clean sweep of a fire axe as the skin burned off its face.

"Well, that felt good." Dean said and then looked at his brother. "Sam?" His face darkened when he saw the blood. "Shit." He took Sam's left arm as the Sheriff took off his cuffs. "Hey, Chief you got a first aid kit around here?"

"Huh? Yeah. Yeah. Hang on." The chief dashed out of the room, giving the dead Leviathan a wide berth.

"Where else, Sam?" Dean asked, unnerved by the glassy look in his little brother's eyes and sighed when he didn't get an answer. He put a hand on Sam's back and hissed when he felt blood and Sam lurched forward with a moan. "Dammit." He braced Sam's shoulders with an arm and looked down, spotting another bleeding wound in his thigh. "God, Sammy." Anger seethed through Dean and he looked over at the headless corpse and wished he could kill the son of a bitch twice.

The Sheriff returned and put the first aid kit on the table, opening it up and handing a wad of gauze to Dean. "'nother cut on his neck." He said and took a pad of gauze himself, pressing it gently to Sam's neck. "Hold on to this, son." He took Sam's right hand and put it over the gauze. "I gotta go…check on my officers." He said; his voice hollow and left the brothers alone.

Dean tugged Sam's jacket off his unresponsive brother and frowned. "Dude, how much blood have you lost?"

Sam just shook his head, remaining silent and staring at the table.

"Ok. You're fine. None of this is too bad." Dean quickly wrapped a bandage tight around his left forearm. He placed another wad of bandage on Sam's thigh and pressed hard on it, earning a moan from Sam. "Sorry. Gotta make this quick. I'll patch you up better later." When he was satisfied his leg had stopped bleeding he pulled out the back of Sam's shirts at the neck and hissed at the stab wound there. "Damn, Sammy."

Sam sat silently through Dean's ministrations. Once it would have comforted him, the sound of Dean's voice but now it made his teeth grind. He killed Amy. He lied to me. Sam thought and felt his world tip dangerously. Dean had promised to trust him and lied. Lucifer stood in the corner, just in his line of sight shaking his head and chuckling like a kid in a candy store. Sam flinched more from that than from his brother pressing into his shoulder wound.

Dean taped a hasty bandage over the puncture in the back of Sam's shoulder. He knew he was hurting him but Sam just kept staring at the table silently. "Sammy?" Sam nodded jerkily in response and Dean took it. Kid was obviously shaken up and who could blame him. "That'll hold you til we get somewhere I can stitch the worst of this up." Dean flipped the first aid kit closed and helped Sam get his jacket back on.

The Sheriff returned with a grim look. "It's over. The FBI's on the way." He told them.

Dean stood quickly. "Yeah look, about that." Dean's face was pleading.

"Whatever I can do." The Sheriff replied seriously. "Especially if it involves lying about everything I just saw."

"Good. Was hoping you could help us…kind of…be dead? You know, quote un-quote." Dean asked and gave him a shaky smile.

"Yeah." The Sheriff looked around at the black blood on the walls. "Yeah, I should be able to swing that."

Dean gave Sam's good shoulder a tight squeeze. "Alright, come on. Let's grab a mop." Dean paused on his way out the door. "Sammy? You ok?"

Sam looked up at him, cold with shock still and somehow found his voice around the lump in his throat as he looked at his big brother. "Yeah. I'm fine."

Dean nodded. "Let's go." He left and Sam stared after him as anger and betrayal raged through him and the tinny echo of Lucifer's laughter filled his ears.

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_The End._

_**A/N: This is the last of the prompts. Thank you!** _


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